


Nightjar

by sparrow2000



Series: Magpie [4]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 23:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 40,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12714672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrow2000/pseuds/sparrow2000
Summary: Five years have gone by since Xander and Spike managed to bring a string of killings to an end, but fate and an unexpected phone call turn Xander’s life on its head one more time.This is the fourth story and the third major arc in my Magpie 'verse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Angst and major character death  
> Disclaimer: Joss and Mutant Enemy et al own everything. I own nothing except my original characters  
> Beta extraordinaire: thismaz Thank you my dear, for all your thoughts and insights, your patience and your love.  
> Comments are cuddled and called George

Willow died on a Tuesday.

Xander had always hated Tuesdays. He’d told her once, on the walk to school, that Monday was the start of the week and there was always the faint possibility that it wouldn’t completely suck. By Tuesday he knew his optimism was misplaced. Wednesday was hump day - the middle of the week - the tipping point towards the weekend. Thursday, well Thursday was the day before Friday and that was as good a reason as any to like it. Friday meant the weekend was so close you could taste it. And Saturday and Sunday meant time off from school. Time to hang with Willow and Jesse, and in later years with Buffy, Giles and Dawn and whoever else made up their rag tag gang at the time.

In more recent years, in the twilight time after Drusilla’s games changed his life forever, the weekend meant time with Willow and with Spike - with his best friend, and with his sire, who was someone who existed in a category he had yet to define, despite the years they’d had together. 

So, if there was ever a day for Willow to die, Xander acknowledged that it was inevitable it would be a Tuesday. It made him want to purge the day from the calendar altogether - 52 or so less days would make the year a little shorter. Make the future years that stretched out before him seem a little less endless and empty and bleak. And Willowless.

“The hearse is here,” Spike said from behind him.

“I know,” Xander replied. He didn’t turn around. “I don’t know if I can let her go.”

“I know,” Spike echoed. “But she’s had her time here. Can’t keep her in the cellar forever.”

“I just needed to be with her for a while longer, you know? Away from prying eyes and questions.”

“Yeah,” Spike replied. “Practical, our little witch was, what with our line of work. Not many folks have their own morgue in the cellar. She’d like to know that she was laid out here, like the Slayer and the Watcher, Bit and the geek boy before her. It’s right that’s she’s here and it’s right that she’ll be with them in Kensal Green.”

“Do you think any of us will die of natural causes? I mean, Buffy, Giles, Dawn and Andrew were killed by Dru.” Xander crossed his arms, his hands cupping each elbow. If he gripped tightly, it might just be enough to stop him flying apart. “I died right here in this cellar and you, you’re buried in Kensal Green as well, even though you’re still walking around.”

“In this line of work, we’re probably the only ones going to die of old age and I intend that it will be a bloody long time before my luck runs out, or I make the decision to bow out on my own terms. But, if by natural causes, you mean human causes, then the Witch’s death was as natural as you can get in this world.”

Xander turned, his eye turning to yellow as his face changed, his nails digging into the skin on his arms. “She got hit by a car. By a drunk driver who ran away. How is that natural?”

“She was killed because of a honking big piece of metal piloted by a pissed-up arsehole who couldn’t face the consequences of his actions.” Spike stood, feet apart, shoulders back as if he was daring Xander to disagree. But then his stance relaxed and he shook his head. “That’s about as human as it gets,” he said. “The only thing you can say is that it was bloody quick with the speed he was going. She was there and then she was gone. She didn’t have any time to use her magic, and I doubt that she felt more than a moment’s pain.” He paused. “The pain is for the rest of us who’re left behind. That’s the way it works.”

“I hate it,” Xander whispered. His eye faded back to brown as he changed back, and his arms dropped to his side. He felt more human, more powerless, than he’d felt in years. “I hate being the one left behind.” The ‘again’ remained unspoken and understood. “I knew it would happen eventually. You remember you told me in Lisbon? You said one day she would die and I knew it was true. But I thought it was years and years away. I thought we’d have more time.”

“We always think we’ve got more time,” Spike said. “Hell, I thought I’d have more time with Dru, and I had over a century with her. You have to realise that it would never be enough. We had that talk in Lisbon five years ago. I know it’s the blink of an eye, but it’s five years more than you thought you’d have when Dru stuck her finger in the pot and gave it a stir. So, think of the time you had, yeah, not the time you lost. Remember, but don’t regret.”

Xander stared down at his boots. The toes were covered with dust from the cellar floor. He’d always meant to get a sealant for the flagstones, but never quite got around to it. Without Willow to remind him, he thought he probably never would. “I’ve tried not to think about you and Dru. You know, since. But you still miss her, don’t you?”

Xander knew Spike shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it. “Worshipped the ground she walked on. But in the end, she made her own choice and I made mine.”

You remember when I would go to the mausoleum every day?” Xander said. “I’d ask you if it would ever get better?”

“And I told you that it would,” Spike replied. “I told you that your little gang would want you to believe it, but only you could make it happen. The Witch would say the same thing - that only you can make your way through this, but she’d hope that you could.”

Xander raised his head and looked at Spike. “I might need some help.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Even if I’m not always right there, modern technology and all that shite. There’s always a way to communicate. You’d think after all this time, you’d believe that.”

“But then, I always was a contrary git,” Xander said with a flicker of a smile.

“Remember that, do you?”

“I remember I had to ask Wills what contrary meant.”

“But not ‘git’”?

“You’ve been calling me that since I was sixteen. Even if I didn’t know what it meant at first, I recognized the tone of voice that said ‘idiot’ at a hundred paces, even without heightened senses.”

“Git,” Spike repeated, but there was a softness in his voice and Xander closed his eye and shuddered. He turned back around and his fingers splayed on the polished surface of the wood at the bottom edge of the long table where the coffin rested.

“Do you want to go up?” Spike offered. “I can see to her.”

Xander shook his head and opened his eye, reaching up to rub at the stretched skin under his eyepatch with his thumb knuckle. “No,” he said. “Thanks for the offer, but this is for me to do.”

“It’s for us to do.”

“Yeah.” Xander walked slowly up to the head of the table and look down into the coffin. Willow lay serene, her red hair fanned out and glorious against the white of the interior, her skin pale and her lips tinted pink. Her eyes were closed as if she was sleeping. The thought hit him like a freight train, or an out of control car. “What if she’s not dead?” he said. “She looks like she’s sleeping. She could be sleeping, or in a coma. We could put her in that mausoleum, but what if she wakes up and it’s cold and dark, and she’s alone? Remember we did it to Buffy. What if-”

“Xander,” Spike interrupted. “Stop it. She gone. We did every test we could, medical and mystical. Her spirit, her soul has passed on. It’s not like with the Slayer. Then you were calling her back. Here, you’re letting Willow go.” 

“I know. I’m sorry.” Xander’s hands curled on the edge of the wood as he felt Spike’s hand, light on his shoulder.

“Nothing to be sorry for, mate, but it’s time.” 

Xander nodded, head moving up and down like that of a marionette on the end of a string. He bent down and kissed Willow once on the forehead just as he’d done long ago when Joyce had died, and just as he’d done so many times since. “Good bye,” he whispered. “Love you. Always love you. Thank you for, well, just thank you.” He took a shuddering breath. “Say hi to them all. Give them my love. Tell them, tell them I’m sorry.” He paused. “Give my love to Tara.” Spike’s hand tightened on his shoulder and he kissed Willow once more, this time on the lips. They were cold and he dashed away a tear before it could land and stain her skin. 

He stood and Spike eased up beside him. “Goodbye Witch,” Spike said. “Been a hell of a ride. I’ll take care of your boy. Make sure he doesn’t get into any more trouble than normal, not that that is saying much. You can keep an eye on both of us when you’re not cuddling with that lovely girl of yours.” He caressed one long white finger down Willow’s cheek and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You turned out well in the end, didn’t you? Went through your tough spots and came out the other side. You’ve earned your rest.” He stepped back and squeezed Xander’s shoulder lightly once more before letting go. “Alright, pet?”

“No, but that doesn’t matter, does it?”

“It matters,” Spike replied. “But it doesn’t change things.” He picked up the edge of the white linen shroud that lined the coffin. “Going to help,” he said.

“Yeah, sorry.” Xander paused. “It’s stupid, I know what we’ve got planned for tonight. But only because you’ve planned it. Wills and me, we never talked about it. I guess I was avoiding it. If I didn’t talk about it, then I could pretend that it wasn’t going to happen. I never thought. God, why didn’t I think?”

“It’s okay,” Spike said. “We talked on and off over the years. She wanted to be with everyone else in the mausoleum, so you know she won’t be interred in the coffin. But she knew that not everyone would be comfortable without some of the familiar trappings. So, we’ll wrap her here in the coffin and do the service so that folks can say their farewells. Then we do a ceremony outside in Epping Forest. She’ll like that, all that green and the earth and the outside air. That way we’ve satisfied all the needs. Then we’ll take her back to Kensal Green and she can be with the others. We’ll take her out of the coffin and it’ll be just her, and the linen and the stone, all natural like. And the others, they’ll look out for her. They’ll guide her home.

“Fuck,” Xander said. “I hate that you had that conversation. That she didn’t have it with me. But I’m selfish enough to be glad at the same time.”

“Smart girl, our Red. Knew her audience.”

“That’s my Willow,” Xander said. He pulled up the edge of the white linen and together they folded it over until it looked like a cocoon over her body, with only her head still free. He thought of the shy young girl he’d known when he was young and the way she’d grown in ways he’d never imagined, a butterfly both fragile and dazzling in her world.

“Let’s get it done,” Spike said. He turned to where the coffin lid rested against the wall behind them by the cellar door. He lifted it easily and laid it carefully on top of the coffin, sliding it into place, until all that could be seen was Willow’s face.

Xander stared at her, trying to fix her essence in his memory. Finally, he nodded. “Goodbye, Wills. Love you always.” He glanced back at Spike who stood silently at the foot of the coffin. With shaking hands, Xander pulled the lid up until it was flush with the casing and Willow disappeared.

Together, they tightened the fastenings. It reminded him of trying to rewind the carriage clock the night Buffy died. The tears streamed down his face with every turn of the screw.

“Have this,” Spike said softly.

Xander looked up and Spike was holding out a white handkerchief. “Never know when one might come in handy.”

Speechless, Xander accepted the fine cotton square and wiped his face. “Willow would tell me to blow now,” he said.

“Yeah, well, if you do that you can keep it until it’s been washed.”

“Big bad vamp. Scared of a little bit of snot.”

“I’ll give you snot,” Spike said. “Come on, time to go. Folks are waiting.”

“Yeah.” Xander stuffed the square in his pocket and lay his hands gently on the coffin lid, feeling the solidity of the wood under his fingers. He’d spent two long days making the coffin, planing and sanding the wood until it was smooth to the touch and polishing it until it was warm to his craftsman’s eye, a coffin fit for the most important woman in his life, even though she would only need it for such a short time. He stroked the wood lightly, then nodded to Spike. In tandem, they lifted it gently until it was balanced and clear of the table. Slowly, carefully they walked up the stairs, Spike shuffling as he backed up, Xander facing forward, guiding him, for once the leader and not the follower. He thought Willow would have approved.

In the hallway, a guard of slayers waited. Vi and Rona, now senior slayers, stood side by side with a dozen more who flanked each side of the hallway. Some had been with the Council for years, some a matter of weeks or months, but they all stood silent, swords in their hands as Spike and Xander and Willow passed. 

Pausing on the threshold of the house, where once a set of bloody keys were pushed through a letterbox heralding another aching death, Spike glanced over his shoulder at the hearse waiting outside, at the side of the road. He looked back at Xander. “Right then,” he said. “Her girl is waiting for her somewhere. Let’s take her home.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was after two in the morning when they finally got back from Kensal Green. They’d lingered at the mausoleum, whispering confidences and benedictions to their dead. Xander replacing the lilies in the vase, just as he’d done every week in the years that had passed as he tried to piece the fragments of life, his death, back together. And now, with Willow finally resting with Buffy and Giles, Dawn and Andrew, his world had shattered again.

Closing the front door behind him, Xander pulled off his coat, hung it on the old-fashioned coat stand and shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants. For once the hallway was bereft of slayers. The trip to Kensal Green had been for him and Spike alone. One last responsibility that could not be shared with their house of girls, however strong they were. He looked at Spike. “Thank you,” he said.

“Didn’t do anything,” Spike replied.

“Just being there helped.” Xander slumped back against the closed front door. It felt like it was the only thing holding him up. “I didn’t expect so many people. I mean normal people, not just people from our world.”

“The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker,” Spike said.

“What?”

“It’s a saying, pet. Witch knew a lot of folk. After geek boy died, she pretty much kept those normal connections going. Took it on, on top of the mystical stuff. And before you go beating yourself up, she liked it. Kept her grounded, she said.”

“You two did a lot of talking. I didn’t realise how much.”

Spike shrugged. “Easy to chat over a cup of tea.”

“I guess,” Xander said. “I just didn’t realise you talked when I wasn’t around.”

“Not everything is about you, mate.”

Xander pushed himself off the door. He was kind of proud he only swayed slightly. “And on that ego-shattering note, I think I’ll go up. I mean, if you don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind, pet,” Spike replied. “Been a long day.”

“I meant, I think I’ll go up on my own. It’s just, I know...I don’t know anything, but I think I just need a little bit of…” he trailed off.

“Space?” Spike suggested.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Sounds like a plan. Do what you need. I’ll be in the library. Got to do some planning of my own on how this place is going to function. Got slayers coming out of the woodwork.”

“I’m sorry. You didn’t sign on for this,” Xander said. “I don't mean the whole do-gooding thing, because hey, vampire with a soul. But the whole den mother to a bunch of super powered girls. You didn’t sign on for that.”

“They didn’t sign on for it either. Didn’t ask to be souped up. Didn’t ask to be chosen. But here they are and here we are.” Spike shrugged out of his duster, hanging it next to Xander’s coat and retrieving his cigarettes and his Zippo. “Go on,” he said. “Go up. Try to get some rest. I’d say try to get some sleep, but we both know that’s not going to happen.”

Xander took a step forward. “Spike,” he started, before shaking his head and stepping back. “Never mind.” Then he turned and headed for the attic room that he still called his own, even when he didn’t use it.

The room felt stuffy, as if the air would be thick and heavy if he stuck out his tongue to taste it. Xander sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his boots, his hands resting on his thighs, fingers twitching with the need of something to do. Something to distract him from the images circling in his head. He could normally hear slayers voices echoing up through the network of old chimneys talking about their latest kill, or their latest nail polish, but for once there was nothing to drown out his tangled thoughts. He stood up and crossed to the chimney breast, his hands splayed on the brickwork and he almost thought he heard Willow laughing. “Willow,” he whispered. But there was no reply and the silence told its own story. He closed his eye, rested his forehead against the cold stone and wondered if any gods would listen to a vampire if he prayed.

He waited until the clock struck three before he headed for the stairs at the back of the house, his boots in his hand. The stairs that in days gone by servants had used to keep the house running seamlessly, so their masters and mistresses could live their lives untroubled by pedestrian domestic duties. He paused at the bottom, listening, but the only sound he could hear was the ticking of the grandfather clock coming from the main hallway. After a final check that the coast was clear, he walked quietly to the kitchen and headed for the backdoor. He had his hand on the door knob when he heard a noise behind him.

“Hey Xander.”

He turned in time to see a skinny girl in her late teens emerge from the walk-in larder, a packet of chips in her hand. She wore a tie-dye tee shirt that came down to mid thigh and her hennaed hair was pulled up in a messy high pony tail on the crown of her head. Her legs and feet were bare.

“Hey, Carla,” Xander said. “Raiding the cookie jar? Or should I say the chip jar? And you’re really rocking the Pebbles look with the hair.”

“Lay off the hair,” she said. “And Slayer metabolism, you’ve got to love it”

“You settling in?” he asked.

“Sure,” she replied. “I know it’s only been a couple of weeks, but everyone seems cool.” She paused. “I’m really sorry, you know, about Willow. I didn’t get to know her very well, but she was always really nice to me when we talked.”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s my Willow.” 

“Xander, I know it’s none of my business, but you know Maggie? She arrived the day after me.”

“Sure,” he said. “At least I know of her. I’ve not had much chance to talk with her one-on-one yet. Vi’s been pulling that duty. Is there something wrong?”

“No,” she said. “Or maybe I should say, I don’t think so, but she’s just not settling in that well. She’s not saying much, but that could just be because it’s overwhelming right now. I can pretty much roll with whatever happens, but not everyone’s like that. The whole being chosen thing is pretty intense. You might want to watch out for her.”

“I’ll do that,” he said. “Thanks for the heads up.” He glanced back at the door leading into the hallway, half expecting Spike to appear.

“You okay?” she asked. “I mean, you’re obviously not okay, after today, but you seem kind of, I don’t know, twitchy.”

“Just restless,” he replied. “Couldn’t really settle so I thought I’d go for a walk. Clear my head.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll leave you to it.” She smiled and headed for the hallway, chips in hand and he sighed with relief, pulled on his boots and headed out of the back door before he could meet anyone else. 

His boots crunched on the gravel pathway and the heavy scent of lavender and rose hung in the late summer, night air. It had been raining when they’d got back from Kensal Green and the air smelled green and lush and clean as he strode off down the pathway towards the old coach house that now served as a garage.

The security light came on as he approached the end of the garden and he paused, remembering another night, years before, when he’d found Andrew’s body posed in his car, a parody of the china doll at his side. How he’d knelt on the gravel path in the teeming rain and cried. He clenched his fist and the car keys dug into his palm as grief and anger warred in his head. “Fuck,” he whispered. “What the fuck am I doing, Wills?”

There was no answer in the still night air and he shoved the keys into his pocket before he could do something stupid. A small side path, leading in the opposite direction to the coach house beckoned and he followed it to a patch of darkness caused by an ancient climbing rose on the far boundary wall. There was a small stone seat etched with butterflies that Dawn had once found in a junkyard and insisted on bringing home for the garden. Xander slumped down onto the seat, closed his eye and leaned his head back against the wall, his face half in and out of the shadows caused by the tall climber and the thin light of the new moon. He breathed in the heady scent of roses and tried not to think. The car keys felt hot and heavy against his thigh.

It was only five minutes before he heard the scuff of boots and the snap of a Zippo. He opened his eye and Spike stood at the bend in the path, cigarette in hand.

“So, what you doing out here?” Spike asked. He was obviously aiming for casual, but his aim was off. Xander could hear the anger and worry bleeding through the cracks between his words. “Out to get some air, then?”

“Something like that,” Xander replied.

“Could have left a note. Send up smoke signals. Used a bit of Morse code or maybe even just popped your head into the library and said ‘Spike, mate, I can’t sleep and I’m going out to the garden to clear my head.’ Amazing this communication lark. If more of us practiced it, it might even catch on.”

“Okay, point taken. Bad Xander.”

“So, you going to tell me the truth?”

“Probably.”

“And…

You don’t seem surprised.”

“You never could lie worth a damn.”

“Another thing I’m not good at. There’s a surprise. We should send a letter to The Times.”

“Oh, for fucks sake, Xander, cut the crap. I know you didn’t sneak out of the house because you wanted to sit under a rosebush and brood like some cut-price Angel knock off.”

“You really know how to stick the knife in, don’t you?”

“Stop changing the subject” Spike stamped his cigarette under the heel of his boot, pulled out another one and lit it. The silence was thick in the summer air.

“I went to kill him,” Xander said finally. “The drunk driver. I wanted to kill him for killing Willow. I got one of our less savoury contacts to hack the police database. Who knew, outside of Sunnydale it’s actually not that easy to do, but I got his address. I knew he’d be there because his fucking lawyer managed to get him out on bail because he’s such a fine, upstanding citizen. I had it all worked out. I was going to take the car and drive there. It’s not that far. I was going to knock on his door and when he answered, I was going to kill him. Easy.”

“Only, there’s maybe just a wrinkle or two in the plan.”

“Maybe one or two,” Xander agreed. “The obvious one is that unless he came out the door, I couldn’t get to him, and if I couldn’t get to him, I couldn’t kill him. And since it’s three in the morning the chances of him opening the door and coming out to talk to someone were pretty slim.”

“That’s definitely what I’d call a wrinkle. Maybe even a snag. So, did you get all the way there before you thought about the snags?”

“No,” Xander replied. “Got as far as the coach house.”

“Bit of a let down as grand adventures go. Got this picture in my head of you taking off like Batman, getting all the way there, and then going ‘oh bugger’. I’d like to have seen that. Could have been quite entertaining.”

Xander leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, hands hanging loose. He felt like he would keel over with a gust of wind. “Not so much with Batman,” he said. “I got to the coach house and I had this flashback to Andrew. You know, to him sitting in the car, dead, and that fucking doll in the other seat. And I remember how helpless I felt against Dru’s campaign. Against her power. Now I’ve got some power. Not like she had, but I was going to use the power I had to kill that guy, because he needed to be punished for killing someone I loved. For killing Willow.” He glanced up at Spike and then away, concentrating on the loose gravel at his feet. “I remembered how I felt killing Tiago, for setting Dru on Rosanna - for killing someone I loved. I remembered the feeling of power and the hate building, and the taste of Tiago’s blood and his magic running through me. And I remembered running through the streets of Lisbon, trying to get away from those feelings - the power, the hate, the ecstasy of feeding and feeling someone’s heart stutter and fail, knowing they couldn’t stop me. The feeling of predator and prey. Of killing and death. Of being strong.”

“That’s a lot of remembering, right there,” Spike said.

Xander sat upright and washed his hands over his face before he looked up. “Yeah. And I remembered that I never wanted to feel that way again. I knew that Willow wouldn’t have wanted it, so I stopped and sat here and waited for you, because I knew you’d come. Eventually, I knew you’d come”

“But you were tempted just to go and see it you could do it. If you could make it work despite the snags?”

“God, yes.” Xander turned his head away and wondered if this was what confession felt like.

“Good. Glad you admit it. I told you when you killed Tiago that it would happen again. And it will. But this wasn’t the time and you’re right; the Witch wouldn’t have wanted it. Not after she fought her way back from her own darkness.” Spike finished his cigarette and pitched it onto the ground where it landed next to the one before. “Come on,” he said. “Time to go in. 

“Out of curiosity, did Carla rat me out?”

“No, she told Vi she’d talked to you. Mentioned that she’d seen you in the kitchen and you were going out for some air. Vi thought I should know.”

“The pitfalls of living with a pile of girls,” Xander said. “Can’t do anything without someone knowing about it. And then talking about it.”

“Comes with the territory, mate. Now move your arse. I suspect you’ve got one slayer, maybe two, waiting for you to show that ugly mug back in the house.”

“Oh joy,” Xander groaned and eased himself off the seat. “Shit, that bench is uncomfortable.”

“Serves you right,” Spike replied.

“I tried to talk Dawn out of buying it at that junkyard. I’m sure the reason it was there in the first place is because it’s so damn hard, no one wanted it.”

“You know how she was once she’d set her heart on something.”

“Stubborn as a mule,” Xander replied. He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Fuck,” he said. “I miss her. I miss all of them. And now with Willow gone, it’s like life is just getting narrower and narrower, like I can feel the walls closing in on any options I ever had.”

“You’ve still got options, lots of them, you just need to decide which ones to chose. But for now, it’s all right to chose to do nothing, at least for a while. After that, you’ll probably find the Witch will come back to haunt you. Boot you up the arse with her ruby slippers for the woe is me act.”

“You’re a poet, you know that.”

“Don’t you forget it,” Spike replied. “Come on. Time to face the slayer music.”

They walked slowly back up the garden path towards the light of the kitchen, Spike at Xander’s shoulder in case he decided to turn and bolt. When they reached the door, Spike paused. “When you mentioned killing Tiago and running afterwards, you kind of edited out the rest.”

Xander froze, his fingers curled around the door handle. He didn’t look back. “You mean the bit where I jumped you and pushed you up against and wall and humped you silly, then you pushed me up against a wall and humped me silly and we both came in our pants like teenagers, and then you bit me.”

“That would be the one.”

“Yeah, I’d kind of forgotten about it,” Xander said. He opened the kitchen door and stepped into the light beyond.

“Can see that,” Spike replied. Then he followed and closed the door behind him, shutting the darkness of the night out. Their own darkness followed them.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a month after Willow’s death when the phone call came. Xander was sitting in his room, reading the latest Terry Pratchett and not hiding. He wasn’t hiding. Really, he wasn’t. It was just that the chair was comfy, the room was quiet and people didn’t bother him in his attic eyrie, at least most of the time. He stiffened at the heavy tread of boots on the uncarpeted hallway. It was no surprise when Spike pushed the door open.

“Most people knock,” Xander said. He kept his eyes on the page.

“Didn’t see the point. You knew it was me.”

“True. Maybe I just want to be alone for a bit?”

“Greta Garbo, you’re not,” Spike replied. “You couldn’t carry off the accent, for starters. Anyway, there’s a phone call for you.”

‘“I didn’t hear it ring,” Xander replied. He looked up. Spike had his duster on, and his hair was wet.

“That’s because you’re up here at the north pole, not brooding,” Spike said. “It was on the land line, which is the only way people get hold of you these days, because your mobile never bloody works. I’ve got a century on you, but I still carry a working phone, so it shouldn’t be such a fucking effort for you."

“I just forget to charge it sometimes.” Xander said. “It’s no big.”

“Yes, it is. What happens if you go out on patrol and one of the slayers gets hurt, and your phone doesn’t fucking work? It’ll be bloody big then."

“All right. Jesus, what’s got into you tonight? Actually, never mind, I’d better go answer the phone since you came all the way up to tell me there was a call.”

“They left a message on the machine, so it’ll keep for a minute.” Spike slouched against the door jam. “I’m wet because it’s raining cats and dogs out there and I didn’t even get to kill anything decent, so I’m a mite narked.” He paused and stuck his hands in the pockets of his duster. “Look, I know you’re grieving, and I’ve let you be. But you need to make more effort to be around downstairs. Everyone else is grieving too. They may not have shared a paddling pool with the Witch when they were five, but she meant something to everyone in this house, even if it was just that she scared the bejesus out of them.”

“Are you talking about yourself now?”

“Among others. I’m sure my duster was heavier than she was, but her mojo, that was heavyweight stuff.”

Xander let his book fall closed and leaned back into the chair’s embrace. “Yeah, it was,” he said. “God, Spike, I miss her. I miss her so much. I keep expecting to turn around and she’ll just be there, making tea, or working out a spell, or even just gossiping with Faith on the phone about how things are shaking on the Cleveland Hellmouth.”

“I know, pet. I’m the same. But I can’t manage the slayers that are here on my own. I know you’ve been helping, but I need you to do more. I need you to start being active again, whether that means going out on patrol, or helping with logistics, or refereeing the fights over who’s stolen who’s favourite socks. I don’t care, but I can’t do it all.”

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I’ve been, being selfish. I promised Carla weeks ago that I’d talk to Maggie about how she’s doing, and I’ve never got around to it.”

“Maggie?”

“She’s one of the new girls. Arrived just before Willow. Well, before Willow. Carla says she’s not settling, probably a bit overwhelmed. I’ve been meaning to talk to her, see what I can do to help, but I haven’t gotten around to it. See? Selfish.”

“Not selfish, just a bit preoccupied and self absorbed. And she’ll be fine. Your girl Carla has a head on her shoulders. You did well spotting her. She’ll give Maggie the pep talk. Do the whole slayer solidarity shtick, complete with ice cream, doing each other’s toenails, talking about the latest boy band and the best way to get Fyarl snot out of this week’s designer knockoff. You’ll see”

“You’re not bad at the pep talk thing yourself. I could do the ice cream and doing each other’s nails, but maybe I’ll pass on the boy band discussion, because you talking about boy bands would freak me out. And notice my self control, not making any comments about you and designer knockoffs, because that would suggest actually having a closet full of more than black jeans and t-shirts and red shirts.” 

“Git,” Spike said.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” Xander said. 

“So, you coming down?”

I’ll be down in a bit.” Xander replied. “Hang on, if you know the voice mail was for me, that means you’ve listened to it, so why don’t you just tell me what it said?”

“I think it would be better if you just listened to it,” Spike replied. “The call must have come in a while ago when I was doing a tour of some of the local hot spots with Vi. She’s also pissed she didn’t get to kill anything scarier than a couple of fledges with the grave dirt still under their nails, so I’d steer clear of her for the rest of the night.” He pushed himself off the door jamb. “You coming? There’s a Truffaut retrospective starting on Channel 4 tonight. I don’t want to miss the start, so the quicker you get your arse in gear, the quicker I can settle down to a decent bit of culture.”

“You know you get weirder everyday.”

“Says the vampire wearing Star Trek boxers.”

“Hey, you leave my boxers alone, and that so didn’t come out the way I meant it.” Xander pushed himself out of the armchair and ambled past Spike, who made a grand ‘after you’ gesture as he walked out of the door and into the corridor. He was pretty sure he knew what other gesture Spike was making behind his back.

The main phone and answering machine were in the front room, overlooking the street. It was a room with too many memories and Xander avoided it when he could. But with Spike at his back, he tamped down his feelings and crossed to the table by the corner window. The light was blinking on the machine. He looked back over his shoulder at Spike, who leaned against the empty mantelpiece. They’d never replaced the clock that had once sat there. “You going to give me a clue?”

“Like I said, I think you should just listen,” Spike replied. “And I think I’m a bit old for charades.”

“Okay, then.” Xander pressed the play button and the last voice he expected to hear filled the room.

“Alexander, it’s Gabriella in Venice. I apologise for not being in touch since Miss Rosenberg’s death, although I trust the flowers arrived. I am very sorry for your loss. I know that this is not the best time, but could you please call me when you get this message.”

Xander stared at the machine and then back at Spike. “That was Gabriella.”

“That it was.”

“She wants me to call her.”

“That’s what she said.”

“She said please.”

“Noticed that.”

“Why does she want me to call her?”

“Suppose you’ll find that out when you call her.”

“But, but that means I’ve actually got to call her. You know, and speak to her. Have a conversation. Oh god.” Xander slid down the wall, until he was sitting on the floor, his legs stretched out in front of him.

“Calm down,” Spike said. “It won’t be that bad.”

Xander glared up at him. “Then you call her.”

“She didn’t ask for me. She asked for you, Alexander.” Spike looked smug as he sing-songed Xander’s name. “Used your Sunday name and everything.”

“Oh god,” Xander repeated and banged his head back against the wall. “It’ll have to be later, because you know there are all those things you said you needed help with - patrol rosters and, and sock refereeing. That’s not a job for the fainthearted, but I think I’m just the man, vampire, whatever, for the job.”

“Sure you are, pet. The other thing you’re the man for is talking. Got quite the talent for it. So, get off your arse, lift the phone and get dialling.”

“But, but, it might not be a good time. What if I get her during dinner? I’m sure that’s some kind of social faux pas. She’ll be pissed at me and make me feel about two feet tall.”

“We’re one hour behind Italy. It’s nine o’clock here, so it’s ten over there. She’s probably finished her dinner and settled with a nice glass of something, waiting for the phone to ring and…”

“The longer I make her wait, the more Gabriella-ish she’s going to be,” Xander finished.

“Knew you were smart.” Spike dug in his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes and Zippo and lit up.

“Can I have one of your cigarettes?” Xander asked. 

“Nope. You don’t smoke and you’re not starting now. Get on with it. I’ll be here. Put it on speaker so we can both hear, but as far as Gabriella is concerned, it’s just you on the phone.”

“Like she won’t know you’re listening. And hey, I don’t have her number and she didn’t leave it.”

“It’s number four on the pre-sets. The Witch used to talk to Venice regularly. She just didn’t make a deal out of it.”

“Fuck,” Xander said. He struggled to his feet and stared at the phone like it might bite him. “Okay, here goes.” He pressed the speaker button, then the fourth button down on the pre-sets and they both listened to the tones burp and burble as the number dialled. Then it rang, once, twice and was answered.

“Si,” a familiar voice said at the other end.

“Annunciata.” Xander grinned. “It’s Xander. Alexander, in London.”

“Alessandro. How wonderful. Your call is expected. I will put you through.”

“But, but, how are you?”

“I am well, Alessandro. We will talk soon. But now is not the time.”

Before Xander could protest, she was gone and the phone rang again. This time when the voice came, there was no mistaking its owner.

“Alexander, thank you for returning my call.”

“Um,” Xander glanced at Spike, who made a ‘go on’ gesture. “No problem. I’m sorry I missed you Gabriella, you know, when you called before.”

“No matter,” she replied. “I am sure you have more important things to do than sit by the telephone waiting for me to call.”

There was no answer to that, so Xander kept his mouth shut. He was kind of surprised that Spike did the same.

“Again, I must extend my sincere condolences for the loss of Miss Rosenberg. Not only is her death a loss to the mystical community, I know that it is a great personal loss to you - to all those in the Council - but especially to you.”

Xander swallowed hard. The lump in his throat felt the size of a baseball. “Thank you, Gabriella, that means a lot.”

“I apologise in advance for my less than elegant segue into the reason for this conversation,” she continued. “If Miss Rosenberg had still been with us, I would have consulted with her, but I find myself in the unusual position of not knowing how to proceed. So, I hope you excuse both my directness and my lack of the same.”

“I guess so,” Xander replied. “I mean, okay.”

“I need you to come to Venice, Alexander. I have need of your assistance in a difficult matter.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Just me? Do you want me to bring a slayer, or slayers? I know we already have a slayer in Italy, but if you need back up, I can round up the troops. Or you know, if you need me to bring someone else, He wondered whether to mention Spike’s name, but decided against it.

“You are the person I need. And I need you to bring the two books with you. The books on family magic. You remember them. I need you to bring those with you.”

“Why?” He looked across at Spike, who shrugged. “I mean, I’m not questioning you, but you know the third book died. Not literally, obviously. But it was burned and, as far as we know, the other two don’t work properly without the third.”

“Even so, I need you to bring the books. I will explain when you get here. It is not a matter for discussion on the telephone.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You say ‘yes Gabriella’.”

“Yes, Gabriella,” Xander said obediently.

“Excellent. Let Annunciata know when you will be arriving and she will arrange a room for you. I’ll expect you in the next two days.”

“Two days.” Xander winced at the way his voice squeaked. It wasn’t a manly sound, especially for a vampire, souled or otherwise. 

Two days,” she confirmed. “Thank you for returning my call. I look forward to seeing you then.” With a decisive click, the phone in Venice went dead.

Well,” Xander said, looking at Spike. “Looks like we’re going to Venice.”

Spike smiled and lit another cigarette. What do we mean, ‘we’?”


	4. Chapter 4

Xander paused at the front door to the Council’s Venice chapter house. The only difference he could see from his last visit was that the dark wood of the front door was now painted a deep forest green. It contrasted with the light coral pink brick work around it and with the fading ochre of the plaster above. He took a step back and craned his neck, taking in the small balconies hanging impossibly in space on the upper levels, and the clumps of vegetation sprouting from cracks in the crumbling bricks where birds roosted in the twilight.

The last time he’d arrived at the house it had been daylight, when Giles had sent him on the trail of a mystical book, partner to the one he’d found in Lisbon. Now, six years on, he was returning in the dark, both books in his possession, as if he was escorting them home.

He hitched his pack further up onto his shoulder and, realising he couldn’t put it off any longer, banged the door knocker twice, trying to convey an air of confidence and conviction into each knock to hide the nervousness he really felt.

He heard the soft tread of footsteps on tile on the other side of the door. A key turned, the door was pulled open and Annunciata stood on the other side. She had a smile on her face, but her eyes were sad as she looked at him. 

“Alessandro,” she said. “You are welcome back with us. We have missed you. “She pulled the door wider. “Come in, Alessandro. Please come in.”

Xander stepped over the threshold. “Thank you,” he said. He hesitated, unsure what to do next, but Annunciata opened her arms and after an instant, no longer than a heartbeat he no longer had, Xander stepped into her arms. Her warmth and her sorrow and her welcome enfolded him. 

“Too long,” she whispered. “It has been too long.”

“I know," he replied. “I just couldn’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t know if I’d be welcome after Elena. After her death.” He clung to her and was horrified at his need for comfort so long after the fact. “It was my fault she died.”

“Not your fault,” she said fiercely. She gave him a small shake, then pushed him backwards until he stood at arms length. “Still like yourself, and yet unlike.”

“Older,” he said. “Sort of, anyway.”

“And sadder,” she replied.

“Sometimes. At the moment, yes.”

“We will see what we can do about that. But for now, we control the things that we can control. At the very least, we can make you welcome and comfortable. I would get Illario to show you to your room, but he is out in the city with friends. I can not keep track of him these days.”

“He’s probably avoiding me, if he knew I was coming” he said. “I’d avoid me, if I was him.”

“He does not need an excuse to disappear when he should be working. He is a teenage boy who thinks he is almost a man. Like most boys of that age, he won’t be a man for another 50 years. And some things never change. He still does not like to get his hair cut. I think he is Samson and being an Italian boy, he’s looking for his Delilah.” She chuckled and pushed Xander on the shoulder. “Come, I have put you in the yellow room. I will show you where it is, so you can refresh yourself. Then, I will tell Gabriella that you are here.”

“I’m sure I can find it. You maybe want to let Gabriella know now?”

“Nonsense. It is not every day I get to gossip with someone I haven’t seen in so long. Come.” She beckoned to him, then turned and started for the stairs. He felt like a teenage boy himself as he followed her order and wondered, not for the first time or the last, how he had come to know so many scary women. He shifted his pack higher on his shoulder and meekly followed.

When they reached the second floor, Annunciata led the way along the corridor to the last door on the right. She bustled inside, making sure the curtains were closed. Xander stood on the threshold and looked around. “Well, I guess I know why they call it the yellow room,” he said. The walls were painted a pale straw colour that reminded him of fields of wheat on a summer’s day. The curtains over the two tall, narrow windows at the far end of the room were a deep gold, edged with dark green that echoed the new paint on the front door. The heavy velvet throw on the bed was the same dark green, this time the edging was yellow.

“Guess maybe you’re psychic, Annunciata,” he said. “Because this really fits with my mood - yellow for the overwhelming need to run in the opposite direction, and green for the nausea. If he were here, Spike would say that it’s the only time I’ve actually ever colour coordinated.”

She turned around, her hands on her hips. “Are you going to stand there all day being foolish, or are you actually going to come in. The linens are all fresh and you only have to lift the phone to speak with the kitchen if you need something.”

He walked slowly into the room, and put his pack down on the floor. “Thank you.”

“Offering a guest hospitality is no need for thanks.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “Alessandro, why did you come alone?”

“Because Gabriella asked me to come. I mean, she made it pretty clear that she wasn’t really asking. She was telling me.”

“No, why did Spike not come with you? It is not like him not to insert himself into a situation. Especially one where he can have some fun at someone else’s expense.”

He sat next to her, his fingers running restlessly over the nap in the heavy velvet of the green throw. “Spike said that it was time I spread my wings. Did the whole fledging metaphor, which would have been pretty impressive if I hadn’t been so pissed at him. He seems to think I had to do this one on my own. To stand on my own two feet. Kind of ironic, because one minute he’s telling me I need to start pulling my weight around the house, and the next minute he’s pushing me out of the metaphorical nest. Personally, I just think he didn’t want to talk to Gabriella.”

“Both things are possible,” she said. “He is a complicated man. But then so are you. He perhaps has a point, but it is not an easy one to hear when you have lost so much and perhaps feel that you want to stay close to home. You are grieving for Willow. And I am saddened by her passing. I always enjoyed talking to her when she telephoned."

“I hadn’t realised she phoned Gabriella so much until I saw the pre-set on the phone in the London house.”

“The Council cannot operate in isolation. There is always much to share. She knew that, so does Gabriella. So do you and Spike.”

“Yeah, I know. I guess Spike and I let our prejudices get in the way when it comes to Gabriella. And by prejudices, you know I mean the fact that we’re scared shitless of her, even though Spike would deny it.”

“Gabriella is a formidable lady. There is no need to be scared of her. But it is wise to be respectful, yes?”

He nodded. “Respectful, I can definitely do. I’m not sure Spike can do respectful, but since he’s not here, which is where we came in with this conversation, it’s kind of a moot point.”

“We will talk again on this before you leave,” she said. She stood up and Xander stood with her. “But for now, I will inform Gabriella of your arrival, although I’m sure she already knows. Come down to the drawing room when you are ready.”

“Thank you, Annunciata,” he said.

She smiled and left the room and he was left alone.

Resisting the urge to pick further at the velvet throw, he opened his pack and pulled out a clean shirt and pants, and his wash bag. If he was going to face Gabriella, he was going to do it after he’d washed behind his ears. It’s not that she’d actually check, but the thought that she just might was enough to galvanise him into action. If anyone made comment that he had taken the time to clean up, he could say that he was being respectful.

Half an hour later, he wouldn’t go as far as to say he felt like a new man, but he was showered and felt clearer and fresher and as ready to face Gabriella as he was ever likely to be. His jeans were clean and his shirt was plain and dark blue. He remembered Willow coming home with it after she’d had a day shopping in central London with Vi. Rubbing his boots on the back of his jeans, he glanced down and considered them respectable. He tried not to think about the dust on the cellar floor in the London house.

Contemplating the two books wrapped snugly at the bottom of his pack, he wondered whether he should take them down with him. But a little voice that sounded very like Spike whispered at the back of his brain that the books were a bargaining chip. That if Gabriella wanted them, wanted Xander’s help, then keeping hold of the books for as long as he could was a good thing. The voice went on to say that it would show Gabriella that she couldn’t just snap her fingers and expect everyone to do as she commanded. 

If Spike had actually been in the room, rather than just an imaginary voice in his head, Xander would have pointed out that the very fact that he was in Venice, only 36 hours after the phone call, and 12 hours before her deadline, kind of demonstrated who was in charge of this little reunion, and Xander was damn sure it wasn’t him.

He placed the old cargo pants and the t-shirt he’d travelled in back in the pack on top of the books, pulled the zip closed and whispered a protection spell out of habit and an abundance of caution. He glanced at his watch - it was 8.15 and Gabriella was waiting, so he left the room, retracing his steps down the stairs to the hallway and, from memory, walked along the long hallway lined with paintings to Gabriella’s drawing room.

The door at the end of the corridor was slightly ajar and as he pushed it open, Gabriella rose from the leather club chair by the fireplace and came towards him, hand outstretched. “Alexander,” she said. “Thank you for coming so promptly.”

“Hello Gabriella,” he replied. He took her hand and had an absurd impulse to kiss it, but settled for squeezing it lightly instead. He remembered discussions over the years with Buffy and Willow and Dawn about how a women’s choice of clothing could give clues about their view of any given situation. Gabriella wore a simple deep blue wrap dress with black shoes with a small narrow heel. Her hair was up and she had small pearls in her ears. Xander wished any of the girls were with him to tell him what the signals meant.

“I know you have many questions and I will attempt to answer them as well as I am able,” she said. “But for now, we should eat. Rosa has been cooking all day since she heard when you were arriving. And I have made arrangements so that your other needs are met.”

“Gabriella,” Xander started.

She held up her hand. “Later, Alexander. For now, I hope you will find the quality of the food here in Venice undiminished, and the quality of the blood to your taste.”

Before he could say anything else, she swept past him and through a door in the corner that he knew led to the dining room.

“Terrific,” he thought. “She’s going to kill me with hospitality. Seriously, could it get any worse?”


	5. Chapter 5

For the sake of appearing polite during dinner, Xander made a show of eating a little of everything that was put in front of him. It was one of Spike’s many lessons, that to be a successful vampire it was necessary to be able to pass as human, although Spike had couched it as the ability to live among the sheep without the flock noticing the wolf was in its midst. Xander wasn’t sure he would ever picture himself as a wolf, but he could see the point of blending in. If that meant eating some of Rosa’s excellent cooking and making small talk with Gabriella, then he would do his best to make a good impression. Given his current dinner companion, it seemed like the sensible thing to do.

“Have you had enough to eat?” Gabriella’s question pulled him out of his mental ramblings.

“Yes, thank you. It was great. I’d never have guessed you could make something as simple as rice, peas and bacon taste so good.”

She smiled. “It is called Risi e Bisi and it is one of the most loved dishes in Venice. The secret, as with all good risotto is in the slow addition of the stock. Risotto rice must be loved and encouraged to cook slowly. Rosa sings to her risotto like a mother crooning lullabies to her child to ease it into sleep. And of course, the quality of the pancetta, the bacon as you call it, give it just the right bite of salt to add to the soupiness of the rice.”

“Wow, it sounds complicated,” he replied. “I was never much of a cook. I was always more of a, stick whatever’s in the fridge in the microwave and nuke it, kind of a guy.”

“Now it is simply the case that you are putting a different type of product in the microwave,” she said. There was no condemnation in her voice.

“I guess that’s true,” he said. He shifted in his seat and inwardly cursed Spike for making him come on his own. “You know, it always blows my mind how people who can cook, can almost taste in their heads how something is going to work. Why this flavour will or won’t go with something else.”

“It is simply a matter of practice, although I agree some people have an instinct, a talent that sets them apart. But even then, they still have to practice.” She paused and studied Xander over the rim of her wine glass. “You were a carpenter, were you not?”

“For a while. It’s something I’d like to get back to, but there never seems to be the time.” His mind shied away from the hours he’d spent crafting Willow’s coffin.

“You must make the time, if it is something you feel strongly about,” she replied. “There are some woods that work well together and some that do not, yes?”

“Definitely. Cherry and maple look great together. So, does walnut and maple. But it’s funny, cherry and walnut together, not so much. They’re both gorgeous woods, but I saw a cabinet made with them once and I’m sure it looked great at the time it was put together, but whoever made it forgot that woods change colour at different rates and after a few years the walnut and cherry just don’t fit anymore. It’s like, if you are using more than one wood in the same piece, pick one to be the main feature and the other to complement it.”

Gabriella took a sip of her wine. “I think you would make a good cook if you put your mind to it. You’ve just described how a recipe works. In the dish we just had, the rice is the main feature as you put it. The peas, the pancetta and the parmigiano are the counterpoints, but they can’t carry the dish, the rice does that.”

“I guess I never thought of it like that. That’s pretty neat.”

“And now that we have discovered the similarity of cooking to carpentry, I think it is time for something a little sweet. I recall you greatly appreciated Rosa’s frittelle before, so we will have frittelle and coffee by the fire and talk some more.” 

She stood up and Xander pushed back his own chair and rose too. Before he could say anything, she left the table, leaving him to follow.

Coffee and a plate of the small, sweet, fried dumplings he’d discovered on previous visits to Venice waited on a tray on the ornate coffee table by the fire. Without asking, Gabriella poured two small cups of strong espresso, placed three frittelle on a side plate and handed them to him. 

“Sit,” she said, gesturing to the deep leather club chair to the left of the fireplace. She took her place in the chair opposite, legs neatly crossed, coffee in hand. She didn’t take a pastry.

Xander sat gingerly on the edge of the seat, the side plate balanced in his lap. The aroma from the coffee was deep and rich, and its scent filled his senses in a way that made him realise that no one could make an espresso quite like an Italian. He took a small sip and then a bite of the frittelle and the bitterness of the coffee mingled with the sweetness of the pastry in a way that made him close his eye in pleasure.

When he opened it again, Gabriella was watching him, a sly smile on her face. “It is very good, yes?”

“Oh yeah,” he replied. “It’s things like this that make me wonder why I don’t just move to Italy, but you know…” He shrugged.

“It is not home, I understand,” she replied. She took a delicate sip of her own espresso. “Alexander, I know I said it before, but I can not express deeply enough my sorrow over Miss Rosenberg’s death.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It was a shock. We all miss her. I miss her every minute.”

“Of course you do. You were almost siblings. You knew each other so well.”

“Too well sometimes. She always seemed to know when I was up to something, and that was before she discovered magic. Usually she knew before I could get around to actually doing whatever it was I was planning, that I shouldn’t be doing.”

“A useful thing if it stopped you getting into trouble. But yes, I can see it could be frustrating. Sometimes the only way to learn is to get into trouble, then work out how to get yourself out of it.”

“I guess,” he replied.

“Did you want to kill the driver?”

“What?” 

“The driver who was intoxicated. Who should not have been behind the wheel of a car. Did you want to kill him for killing your almost sibling.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “I wanted to kill him.”

She nodded. “Understandable. I would have wanted to do the same if I was in your situation.”

“But I didn’t kill him.”

“I assumed you had not.”

He rested the small coffee cup on his knee and watched her. Her skin glowed in the firelight. “Because you think my conscience got the better of me, or because you think I’m not capable of it?” He wasn’t sure which answer he wanted to hear.

“I know that you are capable of it,” she replied. “Remember, I was there in Lisbon the night you killed Tiago. But I am assuming that your conscience, your soul, your love of Miss Rosenberg - of Willow - all acted as counterweights to the anger you felt.”

“Then there’s the fact that my plan wasn’t very good,” Xander acknowledged.

“You are young. You died when you were what, twenty-four, twenty-five? And the six years or so since then still makes you a fledge in vampire terms. Good planning is like the cooking or carpentry we discussed earlier. With practice, you improve your skills. With age, you begin to see subtleties, implications and patterns that don’t seem obvious on the surface. With experience, you begin to see the ripples in the pond.”

He took a bite of the second frittelle and considered her words. “So, you’re saying that if that guy had killed Willow twenty years from now, I would probably have killed him?”

“I’m not saying that at all. I am saying that if it had occurred in twenty years, your plan would have been more nuanced, more thought out. But your conscience, your soul, your love of Miss Rosenberg, of Willow, would still have ultimately dictated your decision. In the end, what that decision would be, I do not know. But whatever the outcome, it would not have been because of an ill thought out plan.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a comforting thought or not,” he said.

“It is not meant to be comforting, or otherwise,” she replied. “I merely state the facts.” She put her empty coffee cup on the table and leaning forward, picked up a small log from the hearth and placed into the fire. It felt strange to watch her manicured nails curled around the rough cut of wood. The flames leapt as she stirred the coals under the log with a heavy brass poker, then she leaned back in her chair, the poker on the lip of the hearth at her feet. “Alexander,” she said. “I would like to ask you another question, but you may feel that I am stepping into territory I have no right to be in.”

“Okay,” he said slowly. “I guess you won’t know until you ask. It’s your house. I’m the guest here.”

“Do you ever regret the decision you made to be turned?”

He scratched the skin beneath his eyepatch absently. He knew it was a tell when he was uncomfortable, his own version of cleaning his glasses, but despite knowing, he couldn’t seem to stop the habit. “Wow,” he said. “You don’t ask easy ones, do you Gabriella?”

“We do not live in an easy world,” she said.

“I guess. I guess it’s a bit too late to have regrets. I didn’t see any choice left, other than letting Dru kill me, or keep me, or whatever it was that she was planning to do with me.”

“So you allowed Spike to kill you instead?”

“Put like that, it does seem a bit nuts, choosing to be killed by one vampire rather than another. But at the time, it felt like a logical decision. In the end, it was my choice. Dru made me passive. She made me find all those bodies, when it was too late to do anything about it. She made me watch Buffy die. In the end, I chose not to be passive anymore.” He smiled. “And you’re right, I’m still just a fledge. Spike calls me a toddler sometimes. Well, he calls me lots of other things too, but that’s just Spike being Spike.” 

He rubbed the skin under his eyepatch again. “I know you and Spike have history, Gabriella. I don’t know what it is and surprisingly enough he won’t tell me, because I’ve asked. But he’s my sire and for the most part he’s been good to me. He killed Dru for me. Despite all the years that he loved her, he killed her. And he’s taught me, not how to be a vampire, but how to be a vampire with a soul. How to try to balance the demon and the conscience. Sometimes it’s easier than other times, because I still remember clearly being human. Then there was Willow there to remind me of crayons and footy pyjamas and the ‘I hate Cordelia club’, and the thousand other things that connected us. But now Willow isn’t here, I have to remember those things on my own. Spike is there to remind me too - about the soul and the demon. 

“Are you in a relationship with him?”

“Again with the not easy question.” He put his empty cup and the side plate on the table. There was still one frittelle left uneaten, but it felt like a temptation in a minefield. He stared into the fire. It was easier than watching her face. “We’re complicated, Spike and me. Yes, we’re in a relationship in as far as he made me. If you mean, are we in a sexual relationship, then the answer is no, apart from that one time in Lisbon, which I’m not mentioning, but since you know about it, it’s kind of hypocritical not to acknowledge it.” If he was still human, he would have blushed, but Gabriella held her peace. “We sleep together more often than not,” he continued. “For comfort and companionship and for connection. I’ve raised it once or twice, because I always thought that vampires were all about the sex, but Spike says that I need to learn to think in terms of decades, not days, or weeks or years. That we’ve been together for the blink of an eye, and if and when it happens again, it will be in its own time.” He straightened up and looked at her. “And Spike would probably be pissed at me for telling you that, but he’s not here.” He leaned back in his chair. “And I’ve been talking a lot and you didn’t ask me to Venice to check on how I was doing?”

“I didn’t,’ she acknowledged. “But I am glad we had this conversation. I appreciate your candour and your confidences. You can trust they will go no further. Despite any evidence to the contrary, I have been concerned about you in these last years.”

“Because of Spike?”

“Strangely enough, no. Because of your losses. To experience such loss would cripple the strongest person, but while you have bent, you have not broken.”

“I’m not so sure of that.” 

“I am.”

“Then it must be true.”

“Precisely,” she said. 

“So, are you going to tell me why I’m here?”

“I am. A few days ago, I received a letter, from a man who presented me with a dilemma. Tomorrow evening I have arranged for both of us to meet with him.”

“Okay. Way to go with the cryptic, Gabriella. Who are we meeting? And why. And why me?”

"The why and the why you, I will leave for him to explain. The letter told me enough to intrigue me into wanting to discuss things further, but it did not go into any detail. As for the who; our meeting is with Ethan Rayne.”


	6. Chapter 6

After Gabriella wished him good night, Xander wandered through the house, trailing his hand across the back of ornate brocade trimmed chairs and along the edges of elegant picture frames. The London house was comfortable in an understated way, its furniture solid and useful, but never ostentatious. He pictured Giles shuddering at the thought of anything ostentatious and for the first time in as long as he could remember the memory came with fondness as well as with grief. 

The Venice chapter house wasn’t ostentatious either. Gabriella wouldn’t countenance such a thing. But it was refined, its furniture chosen for its beauty as well as its utility; set dressing for a stage where Gabriella commanded her audience’s, or some would say her courtiers', attention.

He paused in front of a tall, antique, many drawered apothecary cabinet nestled in an alcove in the drawing room near the door that led back to the hallway. He studied the wood, running his fingertips over the smooth polished surface, tracing the meandering lines of the grain. He identified the style of the cabinet as oriental and appreciated the shine on the brass handles and hinges on each small drawer. He was tempted to investigate the contents, imagining the herbs, spices and arcane spell ingredients inside that made up a watcher’s stock-in-trade. But tempting as it was, he was a guest in Gabriella’s house, even though technically it belonged to the Council, and he wouldn’t trespass on any secrets she chose to keep.

One of the things the gang had debated long and hard in the months after Sunnydale fell was where they stood in relation, not only to the myriad slayers around the world, but also to the other scattered members of the Council who had survived the First’s attacks. Members like Gabriella. It was tempting to consolidate control in the centre and direct satellite operations, secure in the knowledge that they wouldn’t make the mistakes of the old guard. But then, who was to say that hubris wouldn’t cause them to make even worse ones of their own. The other option, and the one that had eventually found favour, was to give each field office, each chapter house autonomy to understand its own backyard and police its own supernatural problems as required, reporting back as needed. It wasn’t a perfect system, and yes, it made it difficult to police the possibility of a rogue watcher or slayer, but it was better than the stultifying control and paranoia of the Travers’ era. He remembered at the time the matter was discussed that he couldn’t imagine giving orders to Gabriella, and his opinion hadn’t changed in the years since the decision was made. So, they dealt and would continue to deal with an imperfect solution in their imperfect world.

He patted the cabinet gently and imagined that he could almost hear the wood hum under his touch. He shook his head at his own fancy and decided to follow Gabriella’s example and go to bed. Vampire hours or not, he was tired. The discussion with Spike before he left London about standing on his own two feet had been draining, although he couldn’t put his finger on exactly why. He left the drawing room with one last glance at the cabinet and made his way slowly back up the stairs to the yellow bedroom. The curtains had been drawn and the bed linen turned down, but his pack was where he left it, on the ottoman at the bottom of the bed, zip closed and spell intact. He considered putting it into the closet, but changed his mind and placed it on a chair by the window where he could see it.

There was a thermos and a glass on the nightstand and when he unscrewed the stopper and poured, he wasn’t surprised to find it contained blood. He raised the glass to Gabriella’s discretion and her adherence to the rules of hospitality, whatever her own feelings on his current state. Taking a sip, he found that it was human and remembering Gabriella’s words, he found it very much to his taste.

He considered phoning Spike, but the blood was smooth and the bed was calling, and he knew he would need all his wits about him when they met with Ethan the following evening. Swallowing the last of the blood, he took off his boots and stretched out on top of the bed. He could call Spike tomorrow, after the meeting, once he had something more concrete to report. After all, if Spike wanted him to show a little independence, part of that was making decisions about what to do, and when to do it, and his decision was not to call until tomorrow. And if, in the back of his mind, he knew that he was being petty, that was nobody’s business but his own. For now, he intended to sleep (like the dead, he heard Dawn say in his head) and he smiled, rolled over and slept. 

He didn’t wake until well into the following day, and he didn’t hear the insistent ringing of his cell in his pack on the chair by the window. When he finally rose, showered and presented himself downstairs, Gabriella was waiting, immaculate as always, with an address for the meeting and another thermos of blood.

The meeting place was of Ethan’s choosing. Gabriella assured Xander she had had it checked out and that it was safe. They walked together in the twilight, turning into narrower streets near San Geremia until she paused in front of a tall, narrow house that had nothing to recommend it other than its utter blandness. It looked like the kind of building Gabriella would never normally be seen in, but she seemed at ease and Xander realised that the surface of Gabriella was exactly what she chose to display. That she hadn’t survived all her working life in one of Europe’s subtlest and most complex cities without being so much more that she presented to the unwise and unwary.

She knocked once, a short, sharp rap, and after a count of three, she knocked again, twice, softly. Xander stood at her shoulder. He heard footsteps on a wooden floor, coming towards them, then the door opened to reveal a small boy who looked startlingly like Annunciata’s nephew Illario when Xander had first met him. The boy said something Xander didn’t understand, but when Gabriella stepped over the threshold, Xander followed, so he assumed that the boy had extended an invitation in whatever language he spoke. They followed him down a short, narrow hallway and into a small dining room. Without a word, the boy turned and left, leaving them alone.

The room was as nondescript as the house itself, a far cry from the elegance of the chapter house. It was sparsely furnished. Just a table, a couple of chairs and a series of empty bookshelves running along the long wall opposite the door from the hall. The shutters were partially closed and the main, thin electric light came from an old glass chandelier that was thick with dust and had definitely seen better days. There was a candelabra on a bureau on the wall opposite the window with three thin white candles that burned with a small flame. A heavy, dark red, felt curtain on a wooden pole hanging on the wall next to the bureau spoke of the possibility of a second entrance. Gabriella took a seat at the table opposite the curtain and Xander stopped in the hall doorway.

“I guess the local tourist office isn’t exactly highlighting this place as a vacation rental,” Xander said. He nodded towards the curtain. “He’ll come from that way. I can hear something and it’s not the boy. The footsteps are much slower and there’s another weird noise I can’t figure out.”

Gabriella nodded. “I agree, he will come through the curtain. Mr Rayne has a flair for the dramatic. As for the venue, I did suggest we meet at the chapter house, but Mr Rayne wanted to meet on more neutral ground.”

“Are you sure it’s not a set up? My history with Ethan doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence.”

“I would not have asked you to come all this way if I believed there was any danger.” She paused. “Or at least, any more danger than there ever is in our line of business, I do think...” The curtain twitched and she trailed off. Xander folded his arms and waited. 

“Your faith in me is touching,” said a voice from behind the curtain.

“I have no faith in you, Mr Rayne,” Gabriella said. She sat composed as the curtain was drawn slowly back until they had the impression of a figure beyond. “I do, however have faith in my intelligence gathering. It tells me that this meeting is as safe as it is possible to be, given your reputation.”

“My reputation, Iago, my reputation.” Ethan limped out from behind the curtain, but his back was stooped and his face was in shadow in the dim light.

Gabriella sat even straighter in her seat. “I believe I left my handkerchief at home, Mr Rayne.”

Ethan executed a shallow bow. He leaned heavily on a black wooden cane. Its handle was curved and an ornately carved figure with a grinning face peered out from between Ethan’s fingers. When he straightened, his face was illuminated by the candlelight. His hair was white and close cropped and his skin was sallow and lined in a way that made him look far older than the age Xander assumed him to be. Far older than Giles had been when he died. 

Ethan shuffled forward, every step an obvious effort, telegraphed by the tap, tap, tap of his cane. When he reached the table, he eased himself slowly down into the chair opposite Gabriella. Xander stayed by the door.

“You must excuse me,” Ethan said. “I intended to be here to welcome you when you arrived, but I have discovered in recent times that it always takes me far longer to get from one place to another than I anticipated. You would think that it would have become a habit by now to build in extra time, but for some reason, I always seem to forget. It is frustrating when the mind as well the body begins to betray you, don’t you think?”

“What the hell happened to you?” Xander said.

“Mr Harris,” Ethan acknowledged. “I could say the same thing in return. We are both not the same people we were when me met previously. Although I admit that you have aged better than I, but on the other hand, I don’t require your more esoteric diet to survive.”

“Mr Rayne,” Gabriella interrupted. “If we can dispense with this small talk, I suggest it would be appropriate to discuss the reason why we are here, yes?”

“As the good lady wishes,” Ethan replied. “Did you bring the books, Gabriella? May I call you Gabriella?”

“I suspect that you will call me whatever you please, with or without my permission,” she replied. “And no, at this point, Mr Harris will not surrender them until he understands why he is here. I appreciate his caution. When you wrote to me, you said you had information of interest to the Council, but you also outlined a disturbing scenario. I believe it bears repeating now that we are face to face.”

“You mean you didn’t give Mr Harris, what the Americans would call the ‘play by play’?”

“No, she didn’t,” Xander said. “And you can be sure I asked. But she said that it would be better for you to explain what’s going on and what you need me here for. And can I say, setting aside the whole you looking like crap thing, what’s really disturbing me is you asking for the books. I’m not really that set on giving you access to even more mojo, but I would like to hear the whys and wherefores of what’s going on before telling you to go to hell.”

Ethan smiled. It looked like a corpse grinning. “You have become more cautious, Mr Harris. I am interested that you have not been lead astray by your sire’s impetuous nature.”

“There are lots of ways Spike can lead me astray, but being impetuous isn’t one of them.”

“Changed days, indeed. I would love to hear more about the ways that he could lead you astray, but we are in the presence of a lady, so I will contain my curiosity. And I admit I didn’t come here to exchange pleasantries, however intriguing they may be.”

“So why are we here?” Xander asked.

Ethan leaned forward, and his fingers slipped on the top of the cane. The carved figure on the handle grinned obscenely in the candlelight. “It’s very simple, Mr Harris,” he replied. “I would like you to kill me.”


	7. Chapter 7

“What? What the hell…” Xander stared at Ethan, “You want me to turn you?”

Ethan slid his hand back over the top of his cane. “I have a lot of flaws, Mr Harris, but imprecise language has never been one of them?” 

Xander took a step forward, then checked himself and retreated until his back was against the wall by the door to the hallway. “You mean you actually want me to kill you? Did you know about this, Gabriella?”

“I did,” she replied.

“And you didn’t think that a warning would be good? Or do you really think that just because I chose to be turned that I’m some kind of tame attack dog for the Council? That my blood lust is so bad that if someone bared their neck and said bite me, I’d just do it?”

Gabriella sat cool and elegant in the bare room and Xander wanted to do something, anything to ruffle her composure. He settled for shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket, his fingernails digging into his palms.

“Alexander,” she said. “I believe we touched on this last night when we discussed consciences and souls. The reason I didn't tell you is because I was concerned that you would react badly, and understandably so to such a request. I believed that there is context Mr Rayne would be better placed to provide himself.”

“Must be a hell of a context,” Xander replied. He made himself unclench his hands.

“I am biased of course,” Ethan said. “But I believe it is compelling.”

“Okay, dazzle me.” Xander shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m actually asking for justifications for getting rid of you, considering all the shitty stunts you pulled over the years, between Halloween and the band candy and Eyghon and not forgetting turning Giles into a Fyarl. Because really, that shouldn’t be forgotten.”

“For which you will remember, Rupert handed me over to the Initiative,” Ethan replied. His knuckles were white on the top of his cane.

“Yeah, well it was about time something came back to bite you in the ass.” Xander knew he sounded petty, but in the face of Ethan’s request, he didn’t care.

“Did you know I’ve been with the Initiative ever since, Mr Harris? Do you think that is what Rupert intended?”

“I have no idea.”

Ethan stood up slowly, one hand on the table top. The other on his cane shook with the effort. “Ten years, Mr Harris,” he said. “Ten years of being poked and prodded and questioned about my magic. Of being forced to use it in the service of Uncle Sam, or whoever they chose to loan me out to. You were angered at the thought that the delightful Gabriella saw you in a less than tender light. Imagine that I may not be entirely enamoured with being coerced to use my gifts in the same way. To be someone’s magical, as opposed to physical, attack dog.”

Xander shook his head, trying to clear a fog in his mind. He left the sanctuary of the doorway and walked over to the window, staring out of the cracks in the shutters. The twilight of their walk over from the chapter house had deepened into full darkness. None of the houses surrounding them had lights in the windows. With a sigh, he turned back to face the room. Neither Ethan nor Gabriella had moved. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t think Giles knew. He would have said something, or done something, I’m sure.” He paused. “You do know he’s gone, don’t you?” 

“I know,” Ethan replied. “I have grieved for Rupert, as much as I am able. As much as I am allowed.”

‘Allowed?” Xander echoed. “But you’re not with the Initiative any more. I mean, you’re here in Venice on your own.”

Ethan sank slowly back down into his seat and studied the table top as if it was the most fascinating thing he’d seen in years. When he finally looked up, his expression was bleak. “I am in Venice to do a job, but I am kept on a leash of sorts, hence the less than salubrious meeting place. The Initiative has made it clear many times that I am too useful to be released and I find the concept of continued serfdom untenable. You said that you would hear what I had to say before telling me to go to hell. I have been in hell for years. Your sire will appreciate the irony. They put a chip in my head. A shock collar for their magical attack dog.”

“Christ. I’m sorry,” Xander repeated. “Really, I am. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy, and let’s face it, we’ve faced enemies a lot bigger and badder than you are.” He rubbed restlessly at the back of his neck as he collected his thoughts. “I don’t understand where I come in,” he said. “I mean, asking me to kill you. You’ve got to agree, it’s a bit out there. If you want to die so badly, aren’t there other ways of doing it, and I can’t believe I actually said that.”

"I’m afraid my options are limited, Mr Harris. My adherence to Janus has had its repercussions as well as its rewards. He guards his disciples jealously in these days of dwindling devotion and he does not permit us to withdraw voluntarily.”

Xander folded his arms and cocked his head to the side. “So you’re saying he won’t let you commit suicide.”

“In a nutshell,” Ethan agreed.

“Wow,” Xander said. “Hang on, you say you’re on a job. What’s the job?”

“The Initiative, like all parts of government likes to know what people are up to. They like to keep an eye on other power structures and they like to gather secrets that might prove useful. I am on a tour of Europe sniffing out secrets of a magical nature.”

“And if you refuse, they shock you.”

“Precisely,” Ethan replied. “As you can imagine, it’s not a pleasant experience and I have tried to avoid it where possible over the years. But sometimes they like to remind me of where I stand in the relationship, even without giving them provocation.”

“Giles would be horrified,” Xander said. “If he’d known - “

“Water under the bridge, my dear boy,” Ethan replied. “I merely wish for things to cease. Life, such as it is, has become unsupportable and I see no other solution.”

“I don’t mean to be funny, Ethan,” Xander said. “But why me?”

Ethan leaned forward, his hands steepled, supporting his chin. “Because you are one of the few people capable of doing the deed. Magic is energy. Energy released needs a channel. My magic has been constrained over the last years. Imagine a river that has been dammed and only allowed to flow under controlled circumstances. Or if that metaphor does not work for you, imagine the shockwave from an explosion. I could provoke a fight in the street or in a bar and goad someone into killing me, but the magic, my magic, once released would devastate them in return.”

“Why wouldn’t it do that to me?” Xander asked. “Can’t be because I’m a vampire, otherwise you’d just have to go to the nearest demon bar and ring the dinner bell.”

“Because you are tainted.”

“What? What do you mean tainted?”

“By chaos. You are touched by Janus.”

“And doesn’t that sound like an after-school special” Xander muttered.

“You killed Tiago in Lisbon,” Ethan replied. “In this day and age, chaos mages are a small circle. We are aware of each other. I felt Tiago’s death. I knew very quickly that it was you. Chaos magic leaves a trace, a signature, like radiation. It is absorbed into the body. Why do you think Rupert could never be fully free of Eyghon? It was in his blood, his bone, his marrow, however much he tried to deny it.”

“I could taste it.” Xander closed his eye, remembering the taste of Tiago’s blood flowing over his tongue. Feeling its thickness and depth coating the back of his throat as he swallowed. He shivered and opened his eye. “You guys should come with a health warning,” he said.

“And of course, it wasn’t just the fact that you bit him.” Ethan smiled knowingly. “You were also bitten by your sire and I think we are all adult enough to know what followed.”

If Xander could have blushed, he would have.

“Sex magic is powerful,” Ethan continued. “You killed, you fed, you fucked and blood flowed. In the frenzy, in the moment of chaos and heat and lust, Janus was appeased.”

“But I don’t understand, even if all that’s true, why should I do it?” Xander paused. “More to the point, why would Gabriella think that I would, and why the books? Why do you need them if all you need is for me to drain you?”

“Aye, there’s the rub…”

“One Shakespeare reference I can tolerate, Mr Rayne,” Gabriella said. “Two is simply an affectation.”

“Your pardon, dear lady,” Ethan replied. He looked back at Xander. “I told Gabriella that I was willing to bargain for my death, knowing that my request would present some moral difficulties. So, I am offering to give the Council something of value in return.”

“And that would be?”

“I have some information about the Slayer line. About its magic and about the spell Miss Rosenberg did and its implications. I believe it would be useful to the Council. In return for giving you this information, I would like an agreement from you that you will provide me with a means to end things.”

“When you put it like that, you make it sound like I’m giving you a gun, but what you really mean is I’m the gun.”

“A matter of semantics, don’t you think?”

“Not really,” Xander replied. “So, what can you tell us about the spell?”

“I can’t go into it tonight. I am supposed to be out on official Initiative business and I was able to arrange a small distraction to allow this meeting to take place. But I do not have the time to go into details and answer the many questions you will no doubt have.”

Xander folded his arms. “That’s kind of convenient. And how could you know something about the spell that Willow didn’t? When it came to the mojo, she was in a different league from you.”

Ethan shrugged. “Nothing in my life is convenient, Mr Harris. As for Miss Rosenberg, her magic and my chaos magic are very different. Is it not possible that my different viewpoint can reveal something that she could not?” Before Xander could answer, Ethan turned his attention to Gabriella. “May we meet tomorrow evening? I will have the luxury of more time and will be in a position to explain in greater details what I believe I can offer.”

Gabriella pushed her chair back from the table and rose. “I believe it would be wise to discuss things at greater leisure. It is a lot to take in, and I still have questions, even though this is the second time I have heard this tale. Are you able to come to the chapter house tomorrow at dusk?” she asked.

“I believe I can find a suitable pretext,” Ethan replied.

“Excellent.” Gabriella nodded. “I leave it to you to arrange your own passage and your own protection. We met on your ground tonight. Tomorrow I would prefer to meet on mine. And I believe Alexander will be even less keen now to have the books out of his custody.”

Ethan inclined his head. “My dear lady, we have an assignation. I shall look forward to it, and to further fruitful discussion. You’ll forgive me if I don’t get up. As you saw earlier, it takes me some time to get from one point to another.”

“Until tomorrow then,” Gabriella said and swept out into the hallway, Xander stepping to the side to let her pass. He turned back towards Ethan, his mind crowded with all the things that he wanted to say, but in the end he couldn’t settle on a suitable comment, so he just nodded and followed Gabriella into the hallway.

She was waiting by the open front door. “An interesting meeting, I think you would agree,” she said.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Xander replied. “When you said we were going to meet Ethan Rayne, I don’t know that I really believed we were actually going to meet Ethan Rayne.” He stepped out into the warm night air. “Spike is going to have kittens when I tell him what Ethan wants me to do.”

“And what does he want you to do, pet?” a familiar voice in the darkness asked. There was the click of a lighter in the sudden silence, followed by a flame and the glow of a cigarette tip. Spike sauntered out of the deep shadow of a doorway across the alley. “I was expecting a check in, but you’ve not been answering your phone.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Spike?” Xander was kind of proud that his voice sounded steady.

“Spike,” Gabriella repeated. She didn’t sound surprised.

“Nice evening for it,” Spike replied. “Or it would be if I knew what it was. But since no one bothered to call me with an update, I’m kind of in the dark other than hearing a name I haven’t heard in awhile.”

“Ethan?” Xander said.

“That’s the one.”

“Oh boy, it’s kind of complicated.”

“And not a subject I believe we should discuss in the street,” Gabriella interrupted. “I assume you expect to stay at the house?”

Spike took a long draw of his cigarette. Xander could almost see him trying to decide whether to bait Gabriella or play nice. “Unless I’m uninvited?” he said eventually.

“Tempting as that is, no, you are not. That would be rather hypocritical of me, given Alexander’s presence.” She raised her eyebrows. “I must say, I am not surprised to see you. I expected you to turn up at some point.”

Spike chuckled, low and dirty. “You know I just love to live up to your expectations, Gabriella.” He took a final draw on his cigarette and flicked the butt into the gutter. “Right then, let’s get this show on the road.”

They retraced their steps through the narrow alleys, Spike and Xander flanking Gabriella, their eyes sharp for movement in the shadows. They didn’t speak and Xander didn’t know whether to be disturbed or relieved at the lack of snark, so he bit his tongue and kept walking until they were back on the Fondamenti dei Mori and made their way briskly to the chapter house. 

Soft lights glowed in the windows on either side of the main door, but Gabriella carried on along the front of the house and unlocked a narrow side gate that led into a courtyard garden. “I see no point in disturbing Annunciata with our arrival,” she said.

“About that,” Spike said. “Me and the boy have got some talking to do. Thinking we should get it out of the way before things go any further. Think we’ll take a turn around the canals now we’ve seen you back to the house. Maybe get a drink somewhere.”

“One could almost accuse you of chivalry, ensuring I reached the house without being accosted,” Gabriella said. 

Spike grinned. “Just know what side my bread is buttered on. You’re a known quantity, Gabriella, right down to how you like your coffee. You go and get yourself killed in a rough neighbourhood, I just have to break in someone new.”

“Spike,” Xander said. “Maybe we should-”

“It’s alright, Alexander. I would hate to cause Spike any inconvenience.” She smiled back at Spike and Xander got the impression of a conversation that ran much deeper than the words that were being said. “Since you are to be my guest, it only remains for me to ask if I should expect you for dinner? I should warn Annunciata and Elena.”

“Nice of you to ask,” Spike replied. “But we’ll pass. Get something to eat while we’re out.” He paused. “Maybe introduce the boy to some of the local delicacies. Something to get the juices flowing.”

“Spike,” Xander repeated.

“Of course,” Gabriella said. “And at the risk of sounding indelicate, shall I have another room made up?”

“No need to bother, love. I’m sure I can find somewhere to sleep. Don’t wait up for us.” Spike nodded at the door on the far side of the small courtyard. “Leave it on the latch, yeah, and we’ll not disturb anyone when we get back.”

“We’ll be quiet coming in, Gabriella,” Xander said.

“I’m sure you will,” she replied. With a nod, she turned and walked across the courtyard, the tread of her shoes on the stone flags the only noise in the quiet night. When she opened the door to the house, the light spilled out for a moment, until she pulled it closed behind her. She didn’t look back.

“Right then,” Spike said. "Time for a drink.”

“Spike, I,” Xander started.

“Not now,” Spike replied. “There’s a bar I like over by the Rialto. Didn’t get to it the last time I was here, what with the wailing and gnashing of teeth and dead bodies we had going on, so it’ll be nice to check out an old haunt. It’s off the tourist track despite being near the bridge. Decent atmosphere and never too busy. We can talk once we’re settled there.” He turned and walked back along the front of the house. The lights in the windows on either side of the main door were out.

Xander sighed and contemplated following Gabriella into the house, but he knew he would only delay the inevitable. He strode out until he caught up with Spike, then matched him step for step as they followed the path along the edge of the canal. After five minutes, they turned right and then left until Spike stopped abruptly in front of open, double, wooden doors with a sign swinging from the lintel that read Cantina do Mori. 

“Time for that drink,” Spike said, and disappeared into the gloom of the bar beyond. 

Xander paused on the threshold, wondering again how much trouble he’d be in if he turned tail and headed back to the house. He stepped inside. 

The room was long and narrow with a wooden bar facing the door, heaving with large, bulbous stoppered bottles, each with its own chalkboard hanging from the neck, detailing its contents. To the left, on two heavy wooden shelves, in a cold counter, plates of food were stacked up.

There were no tables or chairs, just a few stools at the bar and a couple of overturned barrels in strategic corners. Naturally Spike had claimed a corner with a good view of the door. As Xander made his way across the floor, he noticed the dozens of large pots hanging from the ceiling. They looked copper, or possibly brass. It was difficult to tell in the dim bar and wood, not metal, was his area of expertise. He was glad the beams they hung from looked sturdy and secure.

He paused in front of Spike. “Where the hell are we?”

“This is arguably the best cicchetti bar in Venice,” Spike replied. “One of the oldest too, Dates from fourteen-something or other.”

“What’s a cicchetti?” Xander asked.

Spike pointed towards the plates of food. “Those little bits of finger food. Pure Venice on a stick. Have a selection with a glass of something local and you’ll be happy as a pig in shit.’

“That sounds surprisingly sociable and kind of not what I was expecting when you said you wanted to talk,” Xander said. “So, what do we do?”

“You stay where you are. I’ll go get us some goodies.” Without another word, Spike headed for the bar and Xander stood in the corner, his elbow brushing against the upturned barrel. He watched Spike chatting to the barman, both of them gesticulating as they talked. The barman poured a glass of something red, then something white from two of the large bottles, then moved on to fill two plates with small pieces of food as Spike pointed. After a few minutes, Spike made his way back across the room, a plate in each hand and a glass of wine balanced precariously on each plate, in the middle of the food selection.

“Got you a local white,” Spike said. Don't think I’ve ever seen you drink red apart from the obvious.”

“Never been much of a wine drinker, so white’s fine,” Xander replied. He studied the plate in front of him. “What are we eating?

“Little bit of this. Little bit of that. Little bit of the other.”

“It’s the bit of the other that bothers me,” Xander muttered. He poked something that looked suspiciously like a tentacle.

“Oh, for fucks sake, just eat it.” Spike lifted a slice of bread topped with something fishy looking and took a bite. 

With a shrug, Xander picked up the same thing from his own plate and followed Spike’s lead. He munched it thoughtfully then swallowed. “Hey,” he said. “That was pretty good.”

“Told you.” Spike picked up another piece of bread slavered with some kind of tomato paste and ate it in one bite. Xander shrugged and did the same.

They ate the rest of the cichetti without talking, although Xander spluttered at the marinated octopus, but ate it anyway after Spike raised an eyebrow in an unspoken dare. Once the food was finished, and a second glass of wine procured, Spike leaned against the wall and stared at Xander. “Right then,” he said. “Going to start talking?”

“What do you want to talk about? Cicchetti bars you’ve known and loved?” As a stalling tactic Xander acknowledged it wasn’t one of his best.

“Don’t get smart, mate. I’m not in the mood. The only evening flight I could get at short notice was Ryan fucking Air, and my seat was next to a couple of pissed up Chelsea supporters. Not my idea of a good time. So, for starters, why you didn’t call? I had to get off my arse and come over here and now I’ve got to put up with bloody Gabriella and make nice with her for however long we’re here?”

“It’s only been two days, Spike. It’s not like I’ve been gone for weeks. And you were the one who said it was time I spread my wings. Go out on my own. I didn’t realise spreading my wings translated into phoning you every ten minutes to let you know I’ve taken a piss.”

Spike took a long swallow of his wine. “I told you I thought it was time you were out on your own. You’ve been all over Europe and Africa when you were just a pup following up on rumours of slayers and tracking down mystical whatnots for Rupert. Had a whole independent, swashbuckling Errol Flynn thing going on. But since Dru happened, you’ve been playing the home body, second guessing yourself, and I’ve let you do it. So did the Witch. You need to get your sea legs back.”

Xander gripped his wine glass tightly, but didn’t take a drink. “Leave Willow out of this.”

“Can’t do that. She’s gone and she was the last string holding you to the boy from Sunnydale. I’ve been teaching you all I can these last years, but it’s time you had the space to find out stuff for yourself.”

“Yet, here you are, mother henning me and not to mention sending out mixed messages about me pulling my weight back in London at the same time as you’re throwing me out of the metaphorical nest.”

“Look at you with the $10 words,” Spike replied. “Anyway, never said I was consistent. After she died, you said you needed some help and I said that I’d be there, even it was just at the end of a phone. But for that to happen you’ve got to use the fucking phone. I expected you to check in, let me know what was going on. You said you would.”

“And I meant it. Last night, I was tired and I admit a little pissed that you sent me to face Gabriella on my own. But I planned to phone you tonight, right after the meeting with Ethan.”

“And when did you find out about the meeting with Ethan?”

“Last night. And before you say anything, if I’d told you, you’d have jumped on a plane. I was trying to stand on my own feet. I had no idea what Ethan wanted. I wanted to find out before I talked to you, because part of the standing on my own feet shtick is making decisions. So, I decided to wait, and hey look, you jumped on a plane anyway, so I’m kind of damned if I do and damned if I don’t.”

Spike took another drink of his wine and sighed. “Okay, I overreacted. I admit it. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic.” 

“But I was worried,” Spike continued. “So, what did he want? Just asking out of curiosity, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“Well?”

“He wants me to kill him.”

“Well then,” Spike said. "Things are looking up.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me why?”

“Don’t much care why. Wanker needs killing.” He picked up both their glasses in one hand. “I think that calls for another drink.”


	9. Chapter 9

It was nearly dawn when they returned to the chapter house. When the cicchetti bar closed, they had ambled through Venice, dropping stones from bridges into canals and exploring narrow alley ways that led to secret courtyards filled with the heady scents of summer flowers while Spike spun tales of times he had been in the city in the past. He didn’t mention Dru.

The side door of the house was on the latch as they had requested and they walked quietly up the stairs to the yellow bedroom. 

Spike shed his duster and his boots and stretched out on the bed without a word. After only a moment’s contemplation, Xander did the same, just as he’d done so many times over the years. He closed his eye and drifted towards sleep.

They slept until mid afternoon. When Xander poked his head out of the bedroom door, he noted that all the curtains on the windows in the stairwell were closed. He turned back to Spike. “Looks like we’re expected downstairs,” he said.

“Should bloody well hope so. Guests in the house and all that rot.”

“Spike,” Xander said. “Please try not to piss off Gabriella too much. I know you rub each other up the wrong way, but she’s an ally, even if we’re scared shitless of her.”

“Speak for yourself, mate.”

“Oh, I am. But seriously, play nice, please.”

“Since you ask so nicely, pet. I won’t start anything, but I won’t take any crap from her, either.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything else. So, are we going down?”

Spike swept past him and took the stairs two at a time.

“I guess we’re going down,” Xander muttered and followed at a more sedate pace. 

When he reached the bottom of the stairs he saw Annunciata come into the hallway from the direction of the drawing room. She paused in front of Spike, her hands on her hips “Spike,” she said. “I heard you were here. How are you?”

Spike grabbed one of her hands and pulled her towards him as he kissed her fingertips. “All the better for seeing you. How’s Angelo treating you? Still giving you good deals on his pork products?”

She pulled her hand back and shook her head. “Angelo’s pork is his own business,” she said.

“I’m sure it is,” Spike replied. He waggled his eyebrows.

“You are going to behave, yes?” she asked. 

Folding his arms, Spike took a step back. “Not you as well. Everyone around here is a bloody nag.”

Annunciata smiled. It reminded Xander of a teacher he’d had in second grade. He’d been scared of her, too. “Alessandro has given you the talk?” she said. “I hope you listened for once. And you be good to that boy.”

“Yes, Annunciata, I listened. Hard not to, when someone is nattering in your ear. And yes, I’ll be good to him. Mostly.”

“Good. You are being sensible for once. I should take a photograph to commemorate the moment.”

“Hey,” Spike protested.

“Stop being such a baby. Gabriella is in the library. She is expecting you.”

Spike slunk back towards her. “You’re a treasure, you know that, love? I hope Gabriella knows that.”

“And you are a flatterer,” she said with a wave of her finger. “I am just doing my job. Now, I will take you there before you are late.”

“Didn’t know we were on a clock?”

Annunciata slapped him on the back of the head and when Xander chuckled, she slapped him as well. “Boys,” she said. “Now, come.” With a chuff of disgust, she turned on her heel and bustled away. 

“I think she’s trying to tell us something, pet,” Spike said. “Guess we're expected so we shouldn’t keep our hostess waiting.”

Xander rolled his eye and set off in pursuit of Annunciata, Spike at his shoulder. As he followed her, he realised that this was a corridor he’d never explored. Had never had need to explore. It ran parallel to the corridor that led to the drawing room and it was narrower than the others in the house, dark panelled, with deep blue tiles on the floor. There were no paintings on the walls, and no doors off to the side. It was as if the corridor had been constructed for one reason only, to reach the half open door at the end and if that door wasn’t there, the corridor would have no reason to exist. 

Annunciata came to a halt. “You are expected,” she said. Without another word, she turned around, skirted past them and started back up the corridor towards the main hallway. Spike and Xander watched her go.

Spike cocked his head to the side. “Like the lady said. We’re expected.” He pushed the door all the way open and walked into what was apparently the library. There was a swagger in his step and his shoulders were back, but Xander could sense the tension in his body. It was the same tension he felt himself and he acknowledged he just wasn’t as good at hiding it as his sire. 

With a sigh, he followed Spike, but paused abruptly on the threshold. 

He remembered how he had felt entering the dining car on the Orient Express, like an intruder, out of place in the rented Armani tux Gabriella had arranged for him. The library evoked the same sensation - that this was a place where he didn’t belong. He felt as if he was there under sufferance, and that an invitation could be revoked at the slightest provocation. He fought down the almost overwhelming desire to retreat and took a further step inside.

It hasn’t a large space - perhaps half as big again as the one in the London house. But it had a presence, a power that the other lacked, in a way that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. There was something about the shape of it that threw off his eye and his balance, and after a moment’s study, he realised that the room was pentagonal and there were no windows, just shelf after shelf of books and artifacts reaching from floor to ceiling. Some were on immediate display, some behind wire cage doors and some behind glass. The floor was polished dark wood, with an inlay of lighter wood in a geometric pattern. As his eye traced the line of the inlay it became obvious that it made up a giant pentagram.

Gabriella stood at the centre of the pentagram behind a heavy, scarred oak table. She wore a silk dress with long sleeves fastened at the cuff with pearl buttons. The colour shimmered somewhere between green and sea blue in the soft library light. She looked every inch the senior Italian watcher. As she stood there, Xander realised that this was the heart of the house, the room that couldn’t be seen from the outside. As his carpenter’s eye absorbed the craftsmanship, the artistry and the artfulness of the space, he joined the dots that had eluded him. This was the heart of Gabriella - who she was, who she had been groomed to be and who after slight or not so slight rebellion, who she had become. It was the embodiment of a life and a calling defined in bricks and mortar and wood.

“Welcome to my library,” she said.

Spike looked around. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

“I like it,” she said. “Thank you for joining me. I trust you slept well.”

Xander eased up beside Spike as he replied. “Very well, love. Thanks. Decent glass of wine, bit of a bite, comfy bed to get your head down. Got to go with the simple pleasures, yeah.”

“I’m glad you had a pleasant evening,” she said. She paused and for a second Xander could have sworn he saw concern in her face, but it was fleeting and he couldn’t be sure before the composed mask reasserted itself. “I also trust it was a productive evening?”

“Yes, it was,” Xander said before Spike could reply. “Had a good conversation, so we’re all good, in as far as we can be good in the current weirdness.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” she said. “I agree that this is not a normal situation, even given our general penchant for the unusual.”

“So, here we are,” Spike said. He waved his hand in an expansive gesture that took in the whole library. “Get the feeling we’re in the Presence, you might say. Reminds me of visiting a Master once in Athens, back around the 1920’s. Secret room, making a point of us being a guest, maybe even a supplicant.” He squared his shoulders and raised his chin. “Not here to be a supplicant, Gabriella. Neither’s the boy. You asked us for help, remember, so I’m not sure why we’re standing here like you’re granting us an audience.”

Gabriella glanced down, smoothing her fingers over the pearl button at her right wrist before she looked back up at them and nodded. “Forgive me, that was not my intention. But being here, for what I want to say, seemed fitting. Please bear with me,” she replied. On the table in front of her were two crystal decanters and three glasses. She eased the stoppers out, poured the contents of one decanter into two glasses and poured from the second into the third glass. She handed the first two to Spike and Xander. She took the third for herself. “We have had, and will continue to have, our differences,” she said. “Our history is difficult and it is easy to be antagonistic. But the events of these last years have given me and many others in our community pause. Our world is changing and we are foolish if we do not change with it. I am not saying that we put our history behind us, because it makes us who we are, but perhaps we accept it and move on.”

“What exactly are you saying, love?” Spike wrapped his fingers loosely around the crystal glass in his hand.

“I am saying that we have had our difficulties, but to survive we must progress. We must grow.” She raised her glass. “Alexander, Spike, you are welcome in Venice. You are welcome as representatives of the Council. And in these most uncertain times, this formal welcome recognizes that the Council is made of members who accept their and its responsibilities, not just those who accept their heritage. You understand the difference. The difference between choosing and being chosen. You chose to be here. I respect that choice.”

“Hell of a speech, love,” Spike said. “Not what I was expecting, but it’s nice to get some acknowledgement.” He lifted his glass. “Cheers.”

Xander lifted his glass and took a sip. As with the night he arrived, it was human blood, but it was different, almost familiar, as if he knew the donor. He took a sniff, then looked up, startled, nearly dropping his glass.

“Worked it out, then?” Spike said.

“It’s Gabriella’s.” He stared at her. “It’s your blood.”

“Blood freely given,” she replied. 

“Wow,” Xander replied. “So wasn’t expecting that.” He glanced at the long sleeves of her dress and the cuffs closed with the pearl buttons and contemplated the blood in his glass.

“It seemed fitting,” she said. 

“Why are we here, Gabriella?” Xander asked. “I mean, I think it’s huge that you’re officially welcoming us to Venice. I mean, it’s a bit weird too, because it’s not like we haven’t been here before. But if I heard you right, you’re kind of giving us the keys to the door. I could say that the Council has been in Venice for hundreds of years, but I get it. The wheel turns. Tradition gets hit by a two by four and we create a new, different tradition, like the Council having two vampires working for it.”

“I appreciate your view of things, Alexander,” she replied. “You are very astute.”

“But what I don’t get,” Xander continued. “What I don’t get is this formality. God knows, I’ve never been in here before, in this library, but then there’s never been a need, not even for the last big crisis we had. So now, the blood, the toasts, the invitation, it’s definitely wow, but I don’t really understand.”

“The landscape, that is what is changing,” she replied. “When I set you on your path to the Orient Express all those years ago, I had an expectation of what would happen. I believed that the London house needed to be more cohesive if we were to rebuild and I believed that Mr Giles and Miss Summers and Miss Rosenberg could do that, but with the support of the people they valued, people they trusted, even if those same people didn’t always trust themselves. I thought I knew, because I knew the landscape in which we operated. But now, I have no expectation. I have no sure understanding. Mr Giles and the Summers sisters are gone and you both are left to fill that void as best you can, working with your slayers, building on the choices that were made when you thought you had no choice in Sunnydale. You have survived and even thrived, in a manner that I did not expect. But now Miss Rosenberg is gone and your foundations move on shifting sand. It is time to leave the posturing behind and accept our differences and our commonality. Both of these things make us, all of us, stronger.”

“Gabriella-” Xander started.

She put her glass back down on the table. “Please,” she said. “Hear me out. Ethan wrote to me with his ridiculous request, but also with the temptation of an understanding we don't have about this new reality of multiple slayers. He did not give me more information than that and his coyness has been frustrating. But if he has light to shine on our new landscape, I wish to pursue it. I believe it is our responsibility to do so. I’m sure I’m not the first watcher to follow an unorthodox path or face such a dilemma, and you will not be the last cope with the hand you were dealt in an unorthodox fashion.”

“Unorthodox, isn’t a word that springs to mind when I think of you, love,” Spike said.

“I have to move forward, Spike. The young woman you met in Florence is a world away - another time, another place, another coffee cup. She, I, we aren’t Lilliputian anymore. You made me grow up. You made me a watcher. I hated you for it at the time, and I don’t know if I should thank you now, or not.”

“Well, fuck,” Spike muttered.

“Indeed,” she said with a smile.

“What you’ve said makes sense to me, Gabriella,” Xander said. “I’ve sometimes wondered how we’ve got through the last few years with a whole skin, so it’s nice to think that we can act like grown ups and work together. That’s pretty huge. But getting down to the practical stuff - to Ethan’s ridiculous request as you called it. And being the one he’s asked to bite him, I’m saying it’s more a freaksome request than a ridiculous one. So why are we even thinking about it?”

“Because, as he said last night, he claims to know something about the Slayer line. Something about its magic”

“And you believe him?”

“I believe that he has enough arcane knowledge that it is possible he knows something. Do you remember the reason I didn’t tell you about the family magic earlier, because by the time I found out more, we had realised that the books were a red herring that had nothing to do with the murders?”

‘I remember,” Xander said.

“I’ve wondered many times in the years since, what would have happened if I’d come forward with the information anyway, even though it wasn’t directly pertinent at that time. I have wondered whether, if I had told you earlier, or gone to get the information about the third book from Tiago myself, many things could have been avoided. The priest at the school in the north of England who had the book may have survived if we’d got to him before Drusilla. And you, you Alexander, you may not have needed to kill Tiago. So, I feel that I have the blood of them both on my hands.”

“And now you’re asking the boy to potentially kill again. If that’s the chaos mage’s price for knowledge about the slayer line.”

Gabriella looked them both in the eye. “Such is the role of a watcher no matter what the likes of Travers and his ilk believed. A Watcher nurtures their slayer. They train her and teach her and if necessary, then yes, if needed, they kill for her.”


	10. Chapter 10

They reconvened in Gabriella’s drawing room an hour before sunset. Spike and Gabriella took tea together while Xander drank coffee. The talk touched on the current state of the supernatural in both London and Venice and it was as polite as the setting demanded. As he listened to the ebb and flow of the conversation, Xander realised that this new mature relationship was definitely going to take some time to get used to.

“Do you think he’ll actually come?” he asked. “Ethan, I mean.”

“I do,” Gabriella replied. “He wants to be out of the Initiative’s power very badly. Otherwise he would not have approached us in this way. He believes we are his only solution.”

“And he’s tempting us with some goodies we don’t know,” Spike said.

“That too,” she acknowledged. “I think Mr Rayne is a shrewd negotiator and not to be underestimated. I have to believe that whatever he has to offer is equal to what he is asking in return.”

“Not going to speculate?” Spike asked.

“Speculation is rarely useful, and even less so in this case. The empowering spell took us into unchartered waters, and random conjecture is not likely to be productive.”

“Might be fun, though,” Spike replied. “But yeah, I get it. I tell you one thing that does concern me, is whether he’s come up with a good excuse to get away for a bit. Normally, I’d be all for a little dance with some soldier boys, but I’d rather do it on my own turf. What if he’s followed?”

“Fortunately, this is my turf,” she said. “The Initiative cannot breach the wards here, even with the brute force they have at their disposal, so the outcome is not an issue.”

“You think?” Spike said. “Got a chaos mage coming to give us the skinny on something the Council doesn’t know and aiming to do suicide by watcher while he’s at it.”

“I’m not a watcher,” Xander interrupted.

“Keep telling yourself that, pet. Tell that to the girls back in London, yeah.” Spike looked over at Gabriella. “You don’t think the soldier boys are going to be a tad narked that their tame magician is going off-piste. Just don’t want us to be in the firing line.”

“I understand your concern, Spike. I would not put you or Alexander in the firing line as you put it. I hoped our conversation this afternoon in the library was enough to convince you of that, but I genuinely do not think there is an issue. They kept Ethan for years, so I don’t think they are going to air their dirty laundry in public. The same is true if they try to coerce another chaos mage into interfering.”

“Coerce is a nasty word, Gabriella. But it’s not as nasty as slavery. That’s what they’ve done to Ethan, but to be honest, I don’t give a shit about him. The boy here, on the other hand - don’t want the soldier boys coming after him because he took away their favourite toy.”

“Alexander is unique to these circumstances. He and Ethan have a connection. He and Tiago had a connection. That’s not something that can be replicated.”

“Easy for you to say. I worry that the soldiers won’t appreciate the distinction.”

“Remember my toast, Spike.”

“I remember it. And I’ll hold you to it. We’ll hold you to it.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else,” she replied. “You have my support, and the support of the other European watchers. Despite your losses, you are not isolated. Neither are your slayers.” She paused as the door chime echoed through the house. “And on that note, I believe we have company.”

“Right on time, as well,” Spike replied. “He’s keen.”

“I appreciate his punctuality.” She leaned forward and picked up the poker, using it to shift a log in the fire that had rolled too close to the edge. Then she sat back, her hands resting the arms of the chair, her legs crossed at the ankle. She looked composed, but from the way she stared at the door as the tap, tap, tap of Ethan’s cane sounded in the hallway beyond, Xander knew that she was anxious as he was.

There was a brief knock at the drawing room door, then Annunciata appeared. “Mr Rayne to see you.”

“Show him in,” Gabriella replied. She didn’t rise to greet Ethan and Xander was struck as he had been the night he arrived, how the room was staged to create the feeling that she was granting an audience.

“Dear lady.” Ethan shuffled slowly into the room, his cane tapping rhythmically on the tile as he came towards her. “I apologise if I am a trifle early, but I hope you will excuse my eagerness to see you.”

“I believe you are exactly on time, Mr Rayne, and if you were not, the only person you would inconvenience is yourself,” she replied. Xander didn’t think he’d ever heard her sound so imperious. “I trust you had no trouble on the way?” 

“Nothing to speak of,” Ethan replied. He leaned forward as if he was telling a secret. “The military may have layers the public never dream of, but they are also dismally pedestrian when you act according to expectation. Their expectation is that I am milking the older Venetian families for information that could be useful to them. You are a perfect example of that ilk.”

“So they just let you come here?” Spike asked.

“Master Spike." Ethan bowed his head in a gesture that had nothing to do with respect. “A pleasure to see you. The military, as I’ve no doubt Angelus would have told you, have no real conception of the true nature of magic, or of the supernatural. They are dabblers at best. For example, they may have managed to leash you for a while, but in the end it didn’t take, as it were.”

“But they leashed you, mage. Why else have you been with them for ten years. Unless of course, you’ve just been winding us up and you’ve been working for them voluntarily and you’re setting us up for the boys in green to scoop up another couple of recruits to do their dirty work. Been there, done that, not interested in doing it again.”

“A cynic after my own heart,” Ethan replied. “But they control me through technology, not through magic. And I hardly think that I would have come here unaccompanied if I was, as you so colourfully put it, setting you up. 

“I reserve judgement,” Gabriella said. “But I am interested in what you have potentially to offer.”

“And I’m interested in what you’re asking for in return,” Spike interrupted.

“Perhaps we could sit and discuss both matters in a civilized manner? I fear my legs are not what they once were.”

“By all means,” Gabriella replied. She gestured to the chair on the other side of the fireplace and Ethan lowered himself slowly, then laid his cane on the side table within easy reach.

Spike stood by the window, leaning against an antique bureau. Despite being dressed in his normal black jeans and boots, he somehow didn’t look out of place against the rich, heavy curtains that covered the windows. Xander stood near the door to the hallway, by the alcove that housed the apothecary cabinet. As with the first evening, the wood drew him and when he touched it, the cabinet seemed to hum under his fingers.

“I think the time for coyness is past, Mr Rayne,” Gabriella said. “I assume you have the time you lacked last night to discuss the matters at hand. So, what do you have for us? You indicated that you had information about the Slayer line.”

“I do indeed, dear lady. Do you have the books I requested?”

“I do,” she replied.

“Can I see them?”

“Why do you need them?” she countered. “You need to give us some incentive. As you know, possession of the books was not without price.”

“And I have expressed my condolences for your losses. These books, the family magics they describe, are interesting and the third book would have unlocked many of its secrets. It is unfortunate that both that book and the good father from Ampleforth should have come to such an untimely end. But I know that Janus has watched the chaos in the Council these last few years with some appreciation and his magic can be benevolent when he is amused. I can use it to unlock some of the secrets of the other two books.”

“And provide us with what outcome? Why would we care, Mr Rayne? And more to the point, why should we trust magic gifted by Janus? It is likely to be a double-edged sword, is it not?”

Ethan leaned forward, his paper-thin skin almost yellow in the firelight. “Magic is always double-edged,” he said. “That is one of the things that makes it so beguiling. As to why you should care? Because it’s about choice. You think you are so different in your vaunted new Council, but the girls today, the slayers, with a small ‘s’, because they are many; they didn’t choose. Miss Rosenberg, Mr Harris, Rupert, Master Spike there, they all chose. But those girls were chosen, they didn’t get to choose. Slayers never get to choose.”

“Your point, Mr Rayne?”

“I believe that I can do a ritual that will unlock the potential, and please forgive the small bon mot, the potential untapped magic in the two books. That the ritual will reveal a spell that will give future potentials a choice. A choice to accept their calling, or to decline it and carry on in their normal lives.”

Spike cocked his head. “Let me get this straight. You’ll do a spell to find another spell, and the second spell will give baby slayers the option to say yes please to the power up, or they could tell destiny to go fuck itself if they don’t fancy the offer they’re getting."

“Not how I would put it,” Ethan said. “But effectively, yes.”

“But how does it work?” Xander asked. “And why didn’t Giles or Willow know about it? I mean, Wills was powerful enough to wake the slayers. Surely she would have known about this? Gabriella, does this sound even possible, or plausible, and wouldn’t Willow have known?”

“The honest answer is, I don’t know,” she replied. “I admired Miss Rosenberg’s magical abilities, she was a supremely talented and capable practitioner. But she was not infallible. If she were, then we would not have had a number of unfortunate incidents of slayers who were in no mental state to cope with their new-found powers.” She smiled at Xander. “That is no slur on Miss Rosenberg, I am merely stating a fact.

“Yeah, I know,” Xander said softly. “We did what we thought was the right thing at the time because we had our backs to the wall and we were running out of options to beat the First.”

“And it worked,” she replied. “Never forget that.”

“So, that brings me back to my question. What Ethan’s proposing, is it possible, and if it is, should we even think about doing it?”

Gabriella leaned back in her chair. “I told you once before, when I made a study of the family magic, that the potentials were connected long before they were activated. The very fact of their potential created that magical connection. The empowering spell heightened the magic - it split like light seen through a prism. It became personal to each potential as they became a slayer, but like the light, it is also part of a greater whole.”

“I remember,” Xander said. “It was a nifty metaphor. So now Ethan is saying that he can reverse that – put lightening back in the bottle. I have to ask, do we really want to do that?”

“What I am saying, Mr Harris, is that I believe I can uncover a spell that would allow you to modify what you did on the Hellmouth,” Ethan replied. “Or at least I think I can. I need to see the books to be absolutely sure of my ground.”

“Before we get to that, I would like an answer to one question,” Gabriella said. “Putting to one side the fact that you want something from us, exactly why would you do that for these girls and for the Council?”

“Because in the end, I am a servant of Janus, even if I wish to remove myself from his tender touch.” Ethan smiled. “Imagine a world where the powers call on their servants and those servants, those slayers, turn their back. I would say that Janus and chaos as well as the slayers are served.”


	11. Chapter 11

Gabriella sat, back straight, manicured fingers resting on the arms of the leather club chair. Her legs were crossed and the only indication of her thoughts was her right foot, clad in scarlet suede, swinging slowly from side to side. The clock on the mantle ticked and the silence in the room grew. “Interesting,” she said eventually. “I think I am inclined to believe you, Mr Rayne.”

“Gabriella,” Xander said. “Remember he’s a weasel.”

“I have not forgotten, Alexander. I am well aware of Mr Rayne’s reputation. But I also feel more inclined to believe an explanation that is less than altruistic. He has no reason to give us such information about the Slayer line.”

“Apart from the fact that the payoff is him being dead, which is what he wants,” Xander objected.

“True, but as a follower of Janus for so many years, I think it runs true to form to make his payment to us a backhanded compliment to his master. An acolyte to the end, as it were.”

“Interesting thought,” Spike said. He turned towards Ethan who sat, the epitome of rapt attention. “What do you think, mage? She on the money?”

Ethan smiled. “I am thrilled to have such a discerning audience,” he said. “Finding people to appreciate subtlety is so hard in these suspicious times.”

“So, say we believe you. What comes next?”

“The books, of course,” Ethan replied. “I should like to see the books.”

At a nod from Gabriella, Spike opened the bottom drawer of the bureau and withdrew two heavy, leather bound books. He walked back to stand in front of Ethan, a book in each hand. “Right then, one wrong move, mate, one twitch I don’t like and you won’t die, but I’ll make you feel like you are, yeah? You think that chip the soldier boys put in your head hurts. It’ll be a walk in the park compared with what I’ll do to you.”

“Poetic as ever, Master Spike. Now if you don’t mind…” He gestured towards to books.

Spike placed them on the side table next to Ethan’s chair. The edge of the first book knocked the cane and it clattered to the floor. Spike bent down and picked it up. “Think I’ll hold on to this for now,” he said. “Get on with it, then.”

With a low chuckle, Ethan pulled out a small, spiral bound notebook and a fountain pen from his jacket and laid them on the arm of the chair. He picked up the first book and opened it, his fingers bitten down to the quick, tracing sentences and turning pages slowly. As the clock struck the quarter hour he picked up the second book, and repeated the process, his lips moving as he sounded out phrases in languages Xander couldn’t begin to fathom. Every so often he paused to write something in elegant copperplate on the thick cream notepaper at his side. The more pages he turned, the more the words in the notebook grew.

The clock ticked, the cabinet at Xander’s back hummed lightly in the back of his mind, Spike swung the cane, like an oversized metronome keeping time with each quarter hour chime and Gabriella sat silent, still as a statue apart from her right foot, which swung gently from time to time as she watched Ethan read. An hour came and went before he put the books aside. 

“Well, Mr Rayne,” Gabriella said. “Have you reached any conclusions?”

Ethan grinned. He looked disturbingly like the carving of the grinning man on the handle of his cane. “Other than the fact that the fellow who wrote these was a complete tosser?”

“Other than that,” she replied. Her foot stopped swinging, but her nails tapped slowly on the arm of the chair. 

“He was a tricksy bugger,” Ethan said. “You already knew that individually the books read quickly, and slightly simplistically, like a pair of airport novels, you might say. But put the two books together and you can read a whole lot more in each.”

“We already knew that,” Xander said. He remembered the night in the London house library after Dru had come back. “Put both books together and you’ve got the director’s cut.”

“Think you’re mixing your metaphors, there, pet,” Spike said.

“But the point is well made,” Ethan replied.

“Go me,” Xander muttered.

“And to extend Mr Harris’ metaphor, what the third book, if it had still existed, would have done is given us the outtakes, the extras and most importantly, the Easter eggs.”

Xander had a sudden mental image of Alice chasing a white rabbit down a hole, only the rabbit hole was the yawning chasm of the Hellmouth and the rabbit was feral and eight foot tall. For a second, the memory of Anya and her loss made him forget that he didn’t need to breathe.

“You all right, pet?” Spike asked.

“Sure, I’m fine,” Xander replied, with a smile that he knew wasn’t in the least convincing. He turned his attention back to Ethan. “I’m guessing that in this case the Easter egg is the spell that according to you is supposed to give potentials the right to chose?”

“Exactly, Mr Harris.”

“So, you replace the third book with your ritual, and Bob’s your uncle, Fanny’s your aunt, we get the other spell, the boy kills you and we all live happily ever after, that about the size and shape?” Spike said.

“Succinctly put,” Ethan replied.

“Just one thing,” Spike continued. “How do we know that once you do your ritual and we have the spell, that is actually going to work? Not as if we’ve got a potential just hanging around to test it out on. And once you’re dead, you won’t really care?”

“An issue, I agree. But worth the risk, don’t you think?”

“I have another question,” Xander said. “Regardless of whether the spell Ethan’s supposedly going to give us, what happens to the slayers we have now? I mean, the ones already called. I’m all for giving the potentials the right to say no. But isn’t it kind of unfair that the current slayers don’t get any options. Or am I just misunderstanding what’s on offer here?”

“It’s a fair point, Alexander,” Gabriella said. “Well, Mr Rayne. Does the spell only cover potentials?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure,” Ethan replied. “Until I do the ritual and see the spell, I don’t know.”

“But you will know, then?”

“Yes, I should know then. There are of course no guarantees with magic, but I’m sure you are all aware of that.”

“Gabriella?” Xander said. “What do you think?”

“What do you think, Alexander? I meant it when I said you and Spike are welcome here. That you are recognized. Your opinion is as valid as mine. As valid as Spike’s. In fact, perhaps more so, since you were there on the Hellmouth when Miss Rosenberg did the original spell and you were tied so closely to her in her life and remain so even now.”

Xander opened his mouth to deny the responsibility, but Gabriella’s expression was implacable, and when he looked at Spike, he felt the weight of all the Scoobies' hopes and dreams, fears and expectations in his sire’s expression. Spike had burned when Buffy and the potentials had fought the First’s army and when Willow did the empowerment spell. Now it was Xander’s turn to carry the flag and there was nowhere to turn but to his own memories, his own heart and his own love for a red-haired girl who remained with him in the soul she’d protected six years before.

He rubbed tiredly at the skin under his eyepatch, wondering if he still had two eyes, would the decision seem clearer. He doubted it. “When we took the decision to activate the potentials, like I said, our backs were to the wall,” he said slowly. “The First was winning and we had no idea what to do. The idea of empowering all these girls seemed like the solution and it worked. But we weren’t thinking further ahead than coming out of that battle alive. We didn’t think about all the girls around the world who would inherit the slayer power. And there have been times when I’ve wondered if we should have found another way. We stripped those girls of their choices. They got the superhero package, but it’s not as cool as it looks in the comic books. I say we at least get Ethan to do his ritual and find out what this spell he’s tempting us with can actually do. Like Gabriella said earlier, speculation isn’t productive, and it seems like the only way to make an informed decision on what to do next is to let Ethan do his thing.”

“I agree. That seems sensible,” Gabriella said.

Spike didn’t say anything, but his eyes met Xander and he nodded. Xander felt like he’d passed some sort of test he didn’t know he’d been taking.

“Spike,” Gabriella said. “Do you agree?”

“Fine by me,” Spike replied.

“It seems we have a consensus,” Gabriella said. “What do you require for your ritual, Mr Rayne?”

“A few herbs, a talisman of Janus, which I have, and some slayer’s blood,” Ethan replied. He smiled his shark’s smile. “Nothing complicated.”

“And you assume we can provide you with these ingredients?”

“I’d assume, dear lady, that you have them, and that striking cabinet is not just for show. It is very pretty, but I’m sure it is also extremely functional and those little drawers hold all sorts of treasures.”

“Touché,” Gabriella replied.

Xander took a step towards her. “Gabriella, you’re not just going to open that with him here. I mean, what about discretion and, and…” 

“Don’t worry,” she interrupted. “There is nothing that can be done to this cabinet, that it does not consent to. I could give Mr Rayne the key right now and he would not be able to open it, and if he were to coerce me, it would not open for me, either. But thank you Alexander, I appreciate the concern.”

She stood and drew a chain from around her neck. A small key dangled from the end. Crossing the few steps to the front of the cabinet, she inserted the key into the lock in the righthand corner of the inlay above the first row of drawers. She turned it once a quarter turn to the right, followed by a half turn to the left and then finally, a three quarter turn back to the right. The click of a lock releasing was loud in the silence. 

She turned around and smiled at Ethan. “I believe yours is the next move. Or am I supposed to guess what you need, to do this ritual of yours.”

Ethan smiled his own shark smile in return. “Tempting as it would be, it would seem a little counterproductive.” He lifted the notebook at his side and held it out to her. “The ingredients for the ritual became apparent as I was reading the books. I had a fair idea of what I would need, but I wanted to be sure. Everything I need is listed, and I have no doubt that you have them all.”

“Your faith in my inventory is touching, Mr Rayne,” she said, as she took the notebook out of his hand.

Xander stood between the cabinet and the door to the hallway and watched Gabriella consult Ethan’s list. She opened one drawer after another, pulling out small bundles of herbs. “Sage for wisdom,” she said quietly. “Thyme for courage. Lovage for strength. Hyssop for cleansing. And Yarrow for healing.” She gathered the herbs together and placed them in a small copper bowl on top of the cabinet. Then she crouched down and pressed on the edge of a small drawer on the bottom left of the cabinet. She whispered something that Xander couldn’t make out before pressing again and with a snick, the drawer sprung open and she carefully lifted out a small vial filled with a dark red powder. Dried slayer’s blood, Xander realised. That was why the cabinet felt alive to him, why it seemed to hum under his touch.

Gabriella stood, the vial in one hand. She picked up the bowl of herbs with the other and turned to look at Ethan, still sitting by the fire. “I have your ingredients,” she said. “Now it is time to make good on your promises.”

Ethan stood slowly and gave a small, elegant bow, his hand on his heart. “My dear lady,” he said. “I wouldn’t dream of doing anything else.”


	12. Chapter 12

They walked slowly, in single file, from the drawing room to the library, Gabriella leading and Spike bringing up the rear, the two books wedged under his arm. Xander wanted to walk behind Ethan so he could keep an eye on him, but every Hellmouth-born instinct screamed that he didn’t want Ethan directly at Gabriella’s back, however infirm he appeared to be, so Xander quashed his own inclinations and slotted in, in front of Ethan. The space between his shoulder blades itched and he tamped down the urge to check behind him as they walked.

Their procession was slow, Ethan’s faltering footsteps setting the pace. Spike had reluctantly surrendered Ethan’s cane and its tapping on the tile acted as a counterpoint to Spike’s boots and Gabriella’s heels echoing in the narrow corridor. Ethan requested a pause when they were half way so he could rest and catch his breath. His knuckles were white against the black wood of his cane. When they finally reached the library, they paused just inside the door and Xander imagined he could hear the whispers of centuries of watchers, sounding out words in long dead languages, searching for the answer to some obscure prophecy or the key to some arcane spell.

Now here they were, two vampires with souls, one chaos mage with a death wish, and Gabriella, who needed no other title than her name; they were here to discover the key to their own arcane spell. A spell that might right the unintentional wrong they had committed in the battle with the First. The price for their knowledge; the death of one man.

“I have a question before we go any further,” Xander said.

“What’s on your mind, pet?” Spike said.

“It just occurred to me that Ethan said that Janus didn’t let his followers leave voluntarily.”

“That is correct, Mr Harris. Hence, my slightly unorthodox solution.”

“So, he’s not going to try to interfere?”

“You mean with the ritual?” Ethan said. “Or do you mean, are you worried about repercussions?”

“Both. Either.”

“He will not interfere with the ritual, because as I said earlier, the idea of slayers being able to say no will appeal to him,” Ethan replied. “He will not stand in the way of us seeking that knowledge. And while he will not allow me to take my own life, he will appreciate the elegance of my solution. As for the other, he has no interest in vengeance. It is such a pedestrian solution to a problem.”

“I knew someone who’d probably disagree,” Xander said. “But that’s neither here nor there.”

“Indeed,” Ethan said. “Janus prefers a subtler touch. To pluck at a single thread and see what patterns come to pass in the wider web.”

“Very poetic, My Rayne,” Gabriella said. “Alexander’s question was a good one, and I think you have answered it. Now, you have the ingredients for your ritual. You have a location. You have an audience. I think it is time to proceed.”

“Delighted my dear lady, both to answer Mr Harris’ questions and to follow your command.” Ethan replied. He waved his hand in what was once a practiced piece of nonchalance, but now looked as if every little movement was an effort. “And in such a delightful room. I’m sure under different circumstances I could find much to amuse myself in such a room.” He looked down at the inlaid wood at his feet that made up the pentagram on the library floor. “No need even to take the usual precautionary measures. Efficiency and elegance in one package. I am impressed.”

“Don’t give a shit if you’re impressed.” Spike took a step towards him, one book in either hand. “Interested in getting some answers, so get on with it.” 

“Always so hasty, Master Spike. Nevertheless, I will proceed. If you would be so kind as to place the books on the table.”

“Ponce,” Spike muttered, but he put down the books and took a step back, his fingers twitching like he was itching for a fight or a fag. Possibly both. Xander locked the third ‘f’ in the box in his head with the other things they didn’t talk about.

Ethan walked slowly forward until he stood in front of the old oak table in the centre of the pentagram that had held the twin decanters earlier in the day. It felt like months since Gabriella had offered her toast. He arranged the books on the scarred wooden surface, side by side, and opened them to the first page of writing. The edges of the open books touched. He placed the five bundles of herbs around them at points that corresponded with the five points of the library’s walls and drew a small pendant out of his pocket. 

Xander recognized the charm as similar to the one Tiago had hidden in his desk drawer in Lisbon. It was all he could do to swallow the bile that rose with the memory of what had happened then. He could almost see Tiago’s weasel smile and feel the rich heavy taste of the chaos mage’s blood on his tongue.

“I believe that is everything we need,” Ethan said.

Xander shook himself free of his memories of Lisbon. “Do we need to stand anywhere in particular?”

“Wherever you like,” Ethan replied. “One of the joys of chaos is that it finds its own symmetry. It doesn’t need symmetry imposed upon it.”

“So you don’t mind if I stand behind you?” Spike said.

“I’d rather you didn’t, but I’m sure that won’t stop you.” 

Spike just grinned and stepped to the rear and left-hand side of Ethan. Xander considered doing the same on Ethan’s right, but decided he wanted to see Ethan’s face, so he positioned himself to the side where he could see everyone in the room. Gabriella stood on the far side of the table, facing Ethan, her face impassive.

Ethan leaned his cane against the table leg and fished a box of matches out of his pocket. “As you can tell, I was a boy scout,” he said.

“Bet you were a bundle of laughs at camp,” Spike said.

“I admit that sometimes I dibbed when I should have dobbed.” Ethan smiled. “I was partial to a bit of dobbing when I was at camp.” Despite his bravado, Xander could hear the waver of exhaustion in his voice.

“Edifying as this trip down memory lane is, Mr Rayne, I believe we can dispense with it.”

“Of course, dear lady,” Ethan replied. He struck a match and slowly lit each of the bundles of dried herbs in turn, whispering to himself as he did so. As he moved from bundle to bundle his movement seemed to gain an energy that hadn’t been there in the slow walk to the library, as if the magic was buoying him up as it flowed through his bones and his blood. His whispering seemed to magnify with each touch of the flame to the herbs, echoing off the pentagonal walls, reflecting off the shelves upon shelves of books. By the time the final bundle was lit, the whole library seemed to thrum with the sound of a chanting that was far louder than Ethan’s single voice could make. 

Soft smoke rose in tendrils from the herbs and wafted unaided by any breeze over the two open books. Ethan grasped his talisman, the figure of a two-faced man, in his left hand and swung it clockwise over the books. As the chanting reached its crescendo, the smoke thickened and the talisman spun in the thickening air, gaining momentum with every turn. Ethan cried, his voice cracked and rough, “Let that which is secret be revealed. Let that which is lost be recovered.” His right hand hovered briefly over each bundle of herbs in turn. “Bring us its wisdom. Give us its courage. Give us its strength. Let it cleanse us. Let it heal us. Janus, I call on you. Janus, father of beginnings and endings, of doorways and gateways, of transitions, I call on you. Janus, I beseech you. Janus, I implore you. Janus, I bow before you. Reveal how those who were chosen may choose.” 

The pages of the books turned, untouched by Ethan’s hand - slowly at first, then quicker and quicker until both books turned to an empty page. Gradually as the smoke from the herbs dispersed and the chanting faded back to whispering and finally to nothing, words appeared, rising to the surface of the parchment as if they had always been there, waiting for their moment to be called.

Ethan swayed, his hands shaking, his face ghostly and he took half a staggering step forward to lean against the table, his head bowed over the books as if he was paying homage. Xander could hear his heart fluttering and stuttering as if he had run a marathon.

“That’s it?” Spike’s voice cut through the silence.

Ethan straightened slowly, his hands still trembling as he pushed the talisman and the matchbox back into his pocket. “That is it.” 

“Show me,” Gabriella said.

“You may read for yourself,” Ethan replied. He reached for his cane with his right hand and shuffled crablike to the side of the table, his left hand never leaving the surface of the wood as if the table and the cane were the only things holding him up. Xander noticed he hobbled to the opposite side from where Spike was standing.

Gabriella turned the books towards her and Xander moved to look over her shoulder. The writing was spidered across the right-hand page of the first book and the left-hand page of the second. “Can you read it?” Xander asked.

“I can. Almost,” Gabriella replied. “It’s Latin, but some of the symbology is not familiar to me. I will have to consult a few of our older texts and sources.”

“But you can get the gist?” Xander pressed.

“I can,” she repeated.

“And…”

“Its wording is opaque, but there are references to families born and families chosen. Also mentions of duality.” She looked across at Ethan. “And of course, Janus is also the god of duality.”

Ethan smiled. “Duality is always of interest,” he said. “Vampires with souls and slayers of course, young girls with the power to face the darkness. And to have two vampires with souls working with slayers to fight that darkness, you have the very epitome of duality. How could Janus not admire the beauty of such irony.”

“So, we’re Janus’s flavour of the week. That’s awesome. But the spell you’ve just uncovered, it doesn’t actually say anything about slayers, Ethan. Am I understanding that right, Gabriella?” Xander asked. “Does it actually mention slayers – either the potentials or the ones we have now?” 

“No,” she acknowledged. “But I wouldn’t expect it to. If you recall, the books are about family magic, about the connections that weave us together. They are not specifically about slayers. Miss Rosenberg and Mr Giles wanted to consult them because they thought the books might illuminate their research into slayers and the empowerment spell; the connections it drew on from potentials and the connections it created with those who were called. If the spell is what Mr Rayne promised, it will give potentials the option to reject those connections, to refuse the opportunity to become part of the warp and weft that makes up the weave of our tapestry.” 

“But we don’t know for sure, and we don’t know if it affects the girls who have already been called?” Xander said.

“At this stage, no,” she acknowledged.

Xander turned back to Ethan. “You said you’d know after you’d seen the spell whether it included the current slayers. So, does it?”

Ethan shrugged. He looked like he carried the weight of mountains on his shoulders. “Alas, no, it is not clear. My ritual performed as expected, but the resultant spell it revealed is opaque on that point. I am sorry, I have done my best.”

“Fuck,” Xander muttered. “Gabriella, so what do we do now with the spell?”

“It requires further study,” she replied, her gaze focused on the texts at her fingertips.

“Looks like you’ll be around a bit longer, mate,” Spike said. He sauntered over and leaned his hip against the table within touching distance of Ethan.

“But I kept my end of the bargain,” Ethan protested. “I completed the ritual and brought you the spell. If you choose to wait before triggering it, that is your decision.”

Spike studied him curiously. “You really do have a death wish, don’t you? It’s funny, I’ve been waiting for the big reveal – for you to tell us what your real agenda is, but you actually do want to die.”

Leaning heavily on the edge of the table, Ethan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again they were bright with tears. “I can’t go back,” he said. “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t perform on demand like a pet dog. I just want to rest. I just want it to be done.” 

He looked over at Xander. “Please kill me. Please.”


	13. Chapter 13

“Alexander,” Gabriella said. “I believe I agree with Mr Rayne. He has given us all he can. It is up to us to use or not use the spell.”

“Thank you.” Ethan’s voice was scratchy and cracked.

“You actually want me to kill him?” Xander asked. “I mean, really?”

“Want is the wrong word, Alexander.” She smoothed her thumb over the right cuff of her sleeve, the pearl button on the cuff glinting in the light, just as it had done that afternoon when she’d offered them her toast. “However,” she continued. “We entered into a bargain with Mr Rayne. He has upheld his end and now it is time for us to do the same.”

“Me, you mean,” Xander corrected.

“We are in this together. Acting for the good of the Council, and -”

“Now you’re starting to sound like Travers, love,” Spike said.

“And before you interrupted me, I was about to say, for the good of the slayers. Not something I think Mr Travers would ever have said.”

“Something Rupert and I found common ground on, in later years, our distain for Travers,” Ethan said. He leaned heavily on the edge of the table, but his smile showed far too many teeth.

“Don’t give a shite about your common ground. Sit down and keep your trap shut, or maybe I’ll just feed you back to the Initiative if I can’t kill you myself.”

“Spike,” Gabriella started.

“My apologies,” Ethan said. “I know I have put you all, put Alexander in a difficult position. Believe me, it is not in my nature to beholden to others.” He looked down at the floor, his hand gripped on the cane, before he looked back up at Xander. The smile was gone, and his lips were thin and pinched. “It is not in my nature to beg, but here I am.”

“So now I’m Alexander? Not Mr Harris. Not sure if I should be flattered or insulted,” Xander said.

“Mr Harris has a degree of respect and formality, I agree,” Ethan replied. “But given what I am asking you to do, I felt the move to Alexander, to the more familiar, seemed appropriate, however I can return to Mr Harris if you would prefer we kept some distance.”

“I don’t know,” Xander replied. “It’s not... I need… fuck, I need to think,” Xander said. He took one step towards Spike, then stopped. “I’m sorry, I just need to –“

Spike nodded once and jerked his head towards the door. Turning, Xander took three long strides and was out of the library before anyone could protest, the door swinging only half shut in the wake of his exit. He made it a few steps down the corridor before he started to shake and he paused, head down, hands braced against the panelling, staring at the deep blue tile at his feet.

There was silence for the space of a few non-existent heartbeats before the tap, tap, tap of Ethan’s cane, the hiss of a weary breath and the creak of leather and he pictured Ethan settling in one of the library chairs as far away from Gabriella and Spike as he could get.

The silence continued for a moment longer and then Spike, his sire, started to speak.

“Seems like we’ve got two choices,” Spike said. “I can go and sort the boy out. I’ve got no trouble with killing the mage. Someone should have done it years ago. I’d do it myself with pleasure, but from all he’s said, doesn’t look like I can without getting deader. Same goes for you, love. Although, I have to say Gabriella, I’d love to see you getting those manicured hands dirty.”

“I’ve done my share of dirty work over the years,” she replied. “I just don’t see the need to crow about it.”

“Crowing is part of the fun. But like I say, we’ve got two options. I can go talk to him, or you can.”

“Do you think he will listen to me?”

“Can’t hurt to try. You made that big speech about us being welcome, being equals. Seems like it's only right that you put on your big girl knickers and discuss it with him, watcher to watcher. He knows he has to do it, he just needs a reason he can live with.” Spike sighed. “Was a lot easier without a sodding soul. But the boy’s never known the difference. His skin is just a bit thinner than yours and mine.”

“I will go and talk to him. If you would stay here and look after our guest, I’d appreciate it.”

“Love to. We’ll just have a nice little chat while you’re gone.”

“I’m sure you will,” she replied. 

The sound of heels clicking on the library floor signalled her approach and Xander turned on his own heel and fled.

He was standing by the main drawing room window, the curtain pushed partly back with one hand, staring blankly out into the darkness when she entered the room. “Guess I didn’t hide very well,” he said.

“Were you trying to hide?” Gabriella replied. She closed the door behind her. 

He shrugged. “Not so you’d notice. I just needed to be somewhere else for moment, you know?”

“I understand, yes.”

He turned around, letting the curtain fall closed at his back. “I’m surprised you chose to come, even though I overheard you and Spike talking,” he said. “I feel I should tell you that, in the spirit of full disclosure or something. Though I’m sure Spike knew damn fine I was listening, which is probably why he said what he said.” He thought about smiling, but couldn’t summon the inclination or the energy. “But even after all these years, what he says and what’s in his head can be two different things, so I’d still have put money on him being at your back, coming to give me the pep talk, or kick my ass, or whatever.”

“Spike’s reasons are always obscure to me. I have never understood him, perhaps as you say, because his words and his thoughts do not always follow one another. I suspect that he is wary of playing the sire card with you. You are very different, but you have forged a relationship in the years since you were turned. A relationship based on so much more than your turning.”

“We’re the unoriginal odd couple,” he said.

"There is nothing unoriginal about either of you. You are both unique. It is the quality I have come to value in recent years, even if I was perhaps less than forward in telling you.”

Xander left his place by the window and wandered over to the fireplace. He sat gingerly on the edge of the seat Ethan had occupied just a short time before. “Are you trying to sweet talk me, Gabriella?”

“I am not so pedestrian. I say what I mean.”

“And mean what you say,” he finished.

“Indeed.”

“And you’re saying I need to kill Ethan.”

“You didn’t disagree with his proposal when he brought it up at our first meeting last night.”

Xander leaned forward and stared into the fire. “I guess, I didn’t really think about it. I didn’t think he was serious, especially since he was just teasing us with what he could offer in return.”

“And now that you know what he has given us?”

Xander straightened up and sat back in the chair. “Potentially, given us,” he corrected. “And no pun intended.”

“Noted.”

“But god, Gabriella. If that spell works, it will give all those girls a choice. Like I said, at the time, we were so desperate to beat the First. We were willing to try anything and we didn’t really think it through. Or at least, I didn’t. I guess I trusted Willow and Giles to be the brains of the group and think about consequences. But now they’re gone and Jesus, the Council, the girls, are relying on people like me and Spike. I mean, how screwed is that?”

“You sell yourself short, Alexander. You have accepted the responsibility thrust upon you and done your best. It is all any of us can do.”

“But your best comes with a few centuries of tradition and practice behind it.”

“But in the end, I am not my parents, or grandparents, or any of the generations gone before. I am only me. Decisions are for me to make, rightly or wrongly. The same goes for you.”

“And now you’re telling me. I need to do what Ethan asked?”

“Only you can make that decision,” she said.

“Yeah, I know.” He rubbed absently under the elastic of his eyepatch. “I need to know one thing. Why do it now? If we need to do more research on the spell, why not keep Ethan around?”

She walked over the fireplace and sank down into her normal seat. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” He was surprised how quickly he answered, but after a moment’s thought he realised it was true.

“I have access to resources that will verify the spell one way or another. But that access is jealously guarded. I do not want Mr Rayne, and by default the Initiative if they were to re-apprehend him, to know these secrets. I cannot risk it, for the Council’s sake and for the slayers’ sakes."

“And you can’t tell me any more?” Xander asked.

“Not yet. I can’t, I am sorry. I’m asking you to trust me, and not doing the same in return, and I have no doubt if I was having this conversation with Spike, he would call me a hypocrite, especially after the ceremony of this afternoon’s toast. But I hope you know that I understand what this will cost you.”

“Do you?”

“You have not killed a human since Tiago, have you?”

“No.”

“And when you killed him, after you came down from the rush, you were ashamed and horrified. And we did not help make things better.”

“It wasn’t my best night.”

“I do not think it was a good night for any of us. Do you talk to Melina?” 

“I’ve talked to her a few times on the phone. Emailed a bit. Always about business. Tiago’s death left a hole in Lisbon that a few people have tried to fill over the years. Melina keeps her ear to the ground.”

“You should go and see her, after this is resolved. I’m sure she would be pleased to see you.”

“I got her daughter killed, remember.”

She flicked her right hand towards the fire, an impatient gesture he’s seen her direct more than once at Spike. “Drusilla killed Rosanna. Tiago put her in Drusilla’s sights. You killed Tiago as an act of revenge.”

“And now you want me to kill Ethan as an act of contrition for the empowerment spell?”

“Contrition? No. Reparation perhaps. Renewal, possibly. And as an act of pity. Would you send Mr Rayne back to the tender care of the Initiative?”

Xander sighed. “No.” He rested his elbows on his knees and stared into the fire, untangling the events of the last days in his head from the initial phone call with Gabriella, his argument with Spike, the first meeting with Ethan and the aftermath and finally, the ritual in the library that had led to the moment he didn’t want to face. He straightened slowly, scrubbing his fingers through his hair, feeling all the years that Spike told him he would one day have. “I don’t want you there,” he said. “I’ll do it, but I need you not to be there.”

“Alexander,” she started.

“That’s the deal, Gabriella.” He glanced over at the apothecary cabinet. Like Gabriella herself, it was elegant and fit for its surroundings, but he suspected that they both had stains that others couldn’t see – on the inside of drawers, on the inside of souls – in the end it didn’t really matter. Visible or not, the stains existed and he wondered how many stains his own soul had garnered in the last six years and how many more were to come in the years that would follow. He looked back at Gabriella. “Please.”

“Very well. If you insist.” She cocked her head, and for a moment she looked disturbingly like Spike. “I don’t need protecting, Alexander.”

“I’m not protecting you,” he said. He glanced down at his boots and counted to five in his head before looking back at her. “No time like the present.” He stood up, turned away from the fire, opened the door and walked out of the drawing room. The fire hissed and crackled at his back. 

He crossed the entrance hall and walked down the short corridor to the library. Somehow it felt as if it had become longer and narrower and darker than before. The door at the end stood slightly ajar and he paused in front of it, gathering the remnants of his courage before pushing it open and entering the library. 

Ethan sat in the leather library chair, just as Xander had pictured. He had his head tilted back against the wall and his eyes were closed. Spike leaned against the table watching the door.

“Did you miss me?” Xander said.

“Finished getting your knickers in a twist, then?” Spike asked.

“Something like that,” Xander replied. He jerked his head towards Ethan. “He okay?”

“He’s getting a bit of kip. Ritual took it out of him.”

“I am simply resting my eyes,” Ethan said. He blinked slowly and gazed at Xander. “Have you come to a decision, Mr Harris?”

Xander paused at the name Ethan had chosen to call him. “I don’t like you,” he replied finally. “You put us through a pile of crap back in high school and you hurt Giles. I also don’t like or trust chaos magic or chaos mages in general, so I don’t really trust my motives for wanting to hurt you. I really want to talk to Giles, but he’s not here any more, so I need to trust myself.”

“I miss Rupert,” Ethan said. “I regret exacerbating our estrangement. I was having a little fun and yes, I was hoping to pull Rupert back towards me, but it didn’t work out that way. I miss him and I mourn him. If he had still been alive, I would have asked him to kill me. As one also tainted by chaos, he could have done so.”

“Do you think he would have done it?”

“You know, I believe he would. One thing I’ve always depended on was his sense of justice. He wouldn’t let an old dog suffer.” Ethan chuckled. It was a dry, scratching sound that was a million miles from mirth. “He’d take it to the vet.”

Xander rubbed the palm of his hand against his cheek. Christ, he was tired. “The crappy thing is, I know you’re right,” he said. “I hate this. I thought maybe I could help you leave Venice, help you get far away from the Initiative, but I realise that’s not going to help, because they’d find you in the end, and it would probably make things even worse. So I hate that you’re making me do this. But I’ll do it for Giles’ sake.”

“And for mine?” Ethan asked.

“I wouldn’t let an old dog suffer, either,” Xander replied.

Ethan leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs and gazed at the floor. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Spike pushed off the table. “That’s settled then. Now we’ve got all the touchy feely stuff out of the way, there’s no time like the present. Strike while the iron is hot and all that rot.” He took a couple of steps towards Ethan then stopped. “Anything you want to get off your chest before you go, mate? Any famous last words?”

Ethan straightened up and smiled. “I’d like to think all my words have been famous,” he said. “But no. Tell the dear lady that my ritual was honest and the spell it revealed is genuine. And that I am grateful for her hospitality.”

“I’ll tell her,” Xander said.

“And to you, gentlemen. Thank you for your assistance. For what it is worth, you have my gratitude.” Ethan stood slowly, leaning heavily on the cane in his right hand. “How do you want to do this?”

“Same way it’s always been done,” Spike replied. “Doesn’t change just because you’re volunteering.”

“I suppose not.” Ethan took a few, slow steps forward, his cane tapping on the wooden floor. He came to a halt in front of Xander and turned slowly. He was about an inch shorter. “I fear I’ve shrunk in recent years. Who knew it would have an upside.” Slipping his left hand in his pocket, he pulled out the small charm of Janus and slipped it around his neck. “I may be seeking to escape,” he said. “But I hold true to my allegiance and would pay my last respects.” He tilted his head to the side.

Xander looked over Ethan’s shoulder at Spike, standing a few feet away, smoking impassively. “Are you going to help?” he said.

“Nope. You’re a big boy.”

“If you say so, it must be true,” Xander replied. He remembered Spike sitting behind him on the cellar steps in the London house, Willow in front of him, her arms wrapped around his lower legs and her chin resting on his knees. He remembered the hopelessness and pain that had brought him to that point. Now in another watcher’s house, in another country, the wheel turned again. Grasping Ethan’s shoulders firmly, he bent his head, his teeth elongating as he changed. Ethan smelled of age and old parchment, herbs and the spicy rich scent of his magic. “Are you sure?” he said, his mouth at Ethan’s ear.

Ethan nodded slightly. “Please,” he whispered. “Please.”

Xander bent further, the tips of his fangs hovering over Ethan’s jugular for the space of a heartbeat as if there was a moment when he could change his mind. Then Ethan’s heart beat again, like a bell in the back of his brain and there was no going back. He let his fangs sink slowly into wrinkled flesh. Ethan struggled once as instinct took over, but then he stilled and Xander started to feed. The blood coated his tongue and the back of his throat, the magic humming through his veins as the echo of Tiago’s blood leapt up to meet it. He could hear Ethan’s heart like a drumbeat, loud, then softer, then softest, moving further and further away. Finally, the blood flow slowed and Ethan’s heart stuttered. Xander thought he heard a final ‘thank you’, but it could have been a whisper in his head. Then there was silence. Ethan slumped in his arms and the cane tumbled to the floor as he died.

Xander stood in the middle of Gabriella’s library, Ethan’s body in his arms, Ethan’s blood in his veins and in his mouth, and Ethan’s cane at his feet. He stared at Spike, at his sire. “Happy now?”

“No.”

“So where do we go from here?” Xander asked.

Spike shook his head. “I don’t know. Things we do for slayers, yeah?”

Xander turned his head away and Ethan hung heavy in his arms.


	14. Chapter 14

Xander sat on the front step of the chapter house, the dark brown door slightly ajar at his back, and stared out into the darkness and the flat, black water of the canal, reflecting the subdued lights from the surrounding houses. Closing his eye, he let the sounds of the night and the ebb and flow of the chapter house wash over him. He shoved his hands between his knees to stop them shaking as his brain shied and danced around what had happened in the library.

Spike had taken Ethan out of his arms and called for Gabriella. As had happened more times than he could remember, the women had taken care of those left behind by carrying out the rituals for those that were gone. Gabriella and Annunciata tending to Ethan, just as they’d tended to Elena years before, in the cycle of life and death and the sacraments that heralded each turn of the wheel.

He heard the sound of heavy boots on the hallway tile, then the front door opened all the way. The boots paused on the threshold.

“Why is it always women?” Xander asked. He kept his eyes front, scanning the canal and the bank beyond.

“Not sure what you mean, pet,” Spike replied.

“Why is it always women who do the hard stuff? Annunciata and Gabriella are tending to Ethan. I could kill him, end his life, but I can’t deal with his body. Do you remember, right over there?” He jerked his head to where the canal turned the corner. “Right over there. That’s where we found Elena’s body, just after Dru killed her. Gabriella and Annunciata took care of her too.”

“I remember,” Spike said. “Difficult to forget.”

“And who do we get to face down all the things that go bump in the night?” Xander let his face change and glanced over his shoulder at Spike, teeth bared. “Things like us.”

“Xander-“

Xander shook his head and his features smoothed. “Don’t ‘Xander’ me. We get slayers, who we forget are teenage girls, and we expect them to stand up and kill, then move on and kill again.”

“It’s what they do. It’s what they’ve always done.”

“And we’ve always let them.”

The sound of boots on tile started again and Spike eased down onto the step at his side. He touched the tips of his fingers, feather-light, to Xander’s knee, before hunching forward, gazing out over the canal. “I know you think I’m a git. Maybe I am. But I’m still here after over 100 years. Sometimes living and sometimes surviving. Sometimes, somewhere between the two. I want you to do more than survive.”

“Spike,” Xander started.

“Hear me out. I’ve seen a thing or two in my time, done shit I’m not proud of. But I’ve always been loyal in my own way. Angelus knew it. Dru knew it.” He glanced over at Xander before staring back at the black canal. “Sometimes I think you know, and sometimes you doubt it – sometimes I give you reason to doubt. But I’m still here. Even when I’m being a contrary git, I’m still here and I always will be, as long as you need me to be. Like I said in London, even if it’s at the end of the phone, I’ll be here.”

“And all I have to do is call?” Xander asked. He tried for light, but he could hear the thread of need in his voice.

Spike chuckled, a low, dirty sound that cut through Xander’s emotions. “If you’re going to quote 70’s lyrics, I can think of better ones. Look up Debbie Harry, there was a bird who knew how to use a phone.”

“You know your pep talks need work.”

“’Least I’m trying,” Spike said. He lit a cigarette, the tip glowing in the darkness as he shuffled sideways on the step and looked across at Xander. “I’m sorry you had to do that tonight, with the mage. Sorry, won’t stop you feeling crap, but for what it’s worth, I am. I meant it when I said about the things we do for slayers. Maybe all the more important we made the deal with the chaos mage, yeah? If the spell he gave us does what he says it will, then those teenage girls can tell destiny to go fuck itself, or they can step up to the plate. It will their choice. We can’t give them much, you and me, but maybe we can give them that. At least we could do, if we knew if Rayne’s ritual actually worked. I’d like to know how Gabriella is going to tell if the spell is kosher.”

“She was kind of cryptic when she came to give me the talk,” Xander said with a shrug. “Said she had access to resources, or a resource, that would verify the spell.”

“That could mean anything. Though, I get she felt she couldn’t say much with Ethan in the house and the Initiative potentially still around. Loose lips sink ships and all that.”

Xander straightened up. “Oh god, I forgot about the Initiative and we’re sitting on the front step like idiots with signs saying please come and tazer me now. What happens if they come knocking and ask if we’ve seen their tame chaos mage?”

“If they do so, I shall tell them Mr Rayne visited and that he is now gone. That is the truth.” 

Xander pushed himself to his feet and turned in one swift motion. Gabriella stood in the doorway. She had changed into a simple black shift dress and black heels. There was a single strand of pearls around her neck and her hair was swept up and away from her face. She didn’t look like the kind of person who had a body in the basement. He supposed that was kind of the point.

“But your panic is not without a good point,” she continued. “I suggest that we withdraw and reconvene our discussion where our most productive conversations have taken place.” Without a further word, she turned on her heel and walked across the hallway in the direction of the drawing room.

Spike rolled his eyes and pitched his cigarette, watching it describe an elegant parabola into the canal. “I guess we’ve been summoned.”

“Looks like,” Xander replied. He ran his thumb under the elastic of his eyepatch and was surprised to find it come away damp.

Spike stood, head tilted to the side. “You going to be okay?”

“I’ve no idea. But when has that ever stopped me?” Xander replied. “Come on, we shouldn’t keep her waiting.” 

As one, they crossed the threshold and followed in Gabriella’s footsteps. Spike back-kicked the front door closed as they went.

Annunciata stood by the drawing room door, waiting for them. She was clad in a plain brown dress. She wore no jewellery and her shoes were flat and built for comfort. The two books rested in the crook of her arm. “Go in,” she said, and Spike winked at her as they passed. Following, she placed the books down on top of the writing desk by the window. She stood back against the wall and almost seemed to fade into the wood panelling at her back. Xander turned his attention back to Gabriella and Spike.

“So you’re going to confuse the soldier boys with the truth if they come calling. I like it,” Spike said.

“Lying creates unnecessary complications. I prefer a more elegant solution,” Gabriella replied. “But enough of things that may or may not happen. Alexander, I trust you are well?”

Xander folded his arms. He knew it looked defensive, but it was a way of keeping his trembling hands under control. “Don’t really know what to say. I did it. It’s done. Got to find a way to move on.” 

“And one way that would help us move on is finding out if that spell is genuine,” Spike said. “At least we’d know if the mage kept his part of the bargain the way we did. He said to tell you the ritual was honest and the spell was genuine, but it could be all smoke and mirrors.” 

Gabriella shook her head. “I don’t believe it is. But as you say, we have to be sure.”

“When do we get the big reveal? Got a secret decoder ring you found in a lucky bag that you’re going to show us?”

“Every time I start to think of you as an adult, Spike, your choice of metaphor reminds me of your more juvenile tendencies. It’s almost comforting that there are such constants in the world.”

“You say the nicest things, love.”

Xander chuckled, but swallowed it at Annunciata’s sharp “Boys.” He’d forgotten she was there.

“Behave,” she said. “You are not too big to put over my knee,”

“Sorry,” Xander said before Spike could come up with a smart comeback. “I’m feeling a bit punchy right now. I guess it’s the remains of Ethan’s blood. It’s got me a little shaky.” He paused. “You know, it’s funny. When I had Tiago’s blood, I felt like I was high.” He glanced over at Spike. “I went a bit nuts. But with Ethan’s blood, I just feel jittery, like I’ve had a bit too much coffee, but I don’t feel manic.”

“I suspect that is as much to do with the nature of their deaths as anything else,” Gabriella replied. “From what you have said, Tiago’s death was done with rage for his part in Rosanna’s death. That passion reacted with the magic. It would have been a potent cocktail. Ethan’s death by comparison, was carried out with compassion. It creates a cocktail of a different sort. At least that is my best guess.”

“It makes as much sense as anything else,” Xander replied. 

“I know you think I was unfeeling,” Gabriella said. “That I put you in an untenable position when I asked you to trust me and go through with Mr Rayne’s request. But I did have my reasons.”

“Are you going to tell us what they are and cut the cryptic bullshit?”

“Yes, Spike. I am going to tell you. I told Alexander I had a way of verifying the spell. That I needed to protect that knowledge from those who might misuse it.”

“We know that much, pet.”

“Annunciata,” Gabriella said. “Can you open the books to the last page of writing and put them side by side.”

Annunciata stepped away from the panelled wall and up to the writing desk. She flipped the pages of the first book and then the second, her face in profile, illuminated by the reading lamp on the desk.

“What do you see?” Gabriella asked.

Annunciata leaned forward. “I see writing on the right-hand page of one book and the left-hand page of the other. They are meant to be read across both pages so the writing will not make sense without both books.”

“And?” Gabriella prompted.

“I see the writing is in Latin, but there are also Etruscan symbols that would confuse the unwise and the unwary.” Her lips sounded out the words as her finger traced across the pages. Xander glanced at Spike, who shrugged. Finally, Annunciata turned fully to face them. She was smiling. “It is well done,” she said.

Gabriella returned her smile. “Thank you.”

“You mean Annunciata is your big secret?” Xander asked. “But, but…” he tailed off realising that anything he might say would come out as stupid or rude.

“Appearances can be deceptive, Alexander,” Gabriella replied. “You of all people should know that.”

“So Annunciata knows her obscure Latin, not to mention a bit of Etruscan.” Spike pulled a cigarette out of his packet, but he didn’t light it. “Useful thing to have on your CV in our line of work. Still not getting why it’s such a big secret.”

“This is why.” Gabriella gestured towards Annunciata. “Please,” she said.

Annunciata took a step away from the writing desk and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she spread her fingers wide and a wave of power washed through the room, rocking Xander back on his heels. Spike dropped his cigarette and Gabriella swayed once. Annunciata stood still, serene in the eye of the hurricane. Then as quickly as it had come, the power dissipated and was gone.

Spike bent down and retrieved his cigarette from the floor. This time he lit it. His hands were shaking. 

“Wow,” Xander said. "That’s what I call a show and tell.”

Annunciata laughed. 

“Annunciata keeps the house in order,” Gabriella said. “Not just domestically although I could not do without her in that sphere, but also magically. She is one of the most gifted witches in this part of Europe and she has been with my family since she was a child.”

Spike took a long pull on his cigarette and cocked his head towards Annunciata. “She kept you under wraps, so no one else gets to play?”

“With my consent,” Annunciata said. “This is not the Initiative and I am not Ethan.”

“Annunciata's talents have given us a certain tactical advantage over the years,” Gabriella acknowledged.

“Why didn’t you tell us before?” Xander asked.

“There was no need for you to know,” Annunciata replied. She glanced from Xander to Spike and back again. “It is not that it was kept from you, it was that there was no need for either of you to know. Now there is a need, so I have shown you.”

“Shown us with Gabriella’s permission?” Spike said.

“You come at this from the wrong direction,” Annunciata said. “Gabriella asked my permission, not the other way around. Do not be deceived by our relationship. She is the lady of this house and I am its keeper. Do you understand the distinction? Both are necessary to achieve balance.”

“Quite the speech,” Spike replied.

“The sharing of secrets sometimes needs to be accompanied by eloquent words,” Gabriella said.” I asked you to trust me before. Now I, both of us, are trusting you with this knowledge.”

“Wow,” Xander repeated. “Wasn’t expecting this.” He paused. “Did the others know - Giles and Buffy? Did Willow know?”

“Miss Summers and Mr Giles were not aware. And yes, Miss Rosenberg knew, but not until after the tragic end for the others. At that point, we both felt she should be told that magical support was here should she need it.”

“The speed dial,” Xander said. “I’d never noticed on the phone until I had to phone you back. The number for this house is on the London house’s speed dial."

Gabriella nodded. “I acted as intermediary and we have had a number of conversations over the years.”

“Hang on,” Xander said. “What about Elena. I’m sorry Annunciata, I don’t mean to be crass, but she was your sister, but was she, I mean, did she have magic, too?”

“She did not, Alessandro. Elena’s talents lay in other areas and my parents chose to keep her with them, just as they chose to allow me to stay in this house to learn. I wish that she had had power that could have protected her – I wish I could have protected her - but such thoughts do not change the past.”

“Here’s a question,” Spike said. “Could you have stopped Dru?”

“No, I could not have done so,” Annunciata said. “I am sorry, truly I am. I am not a slayer. Willow was more powerful than me and if she could not stop her, I would not have been able to.”

“It’s okay,” Xander replied. “I understand. I’m sure you’d have helped if you could.”

“What about the books?” Spike said. “You can obviously read the spell there, so why did we need the mage to do the ritual? Could have saved the boy all the angst of killing Rayne.”

“Spike, don’t.”

“Just getting the facts straight, pet. Magic’s a funny thing. Spent enough years around Dru to know that.”

“It is all right, Alessandro. You have a right to know. My magic is pure. It is earth magic and I was trained from a young age. Willow’s magic was not pure and I say that with the greatest respect. You know this because you bear the scars of her fall. She pulled herself back, but her magic also had scars and they fed into the empowerment spell. Without meaning to, Willow created chaos when all the potentials were activated. Mr Rayne’s own chaos magic was sympathetic and acted as a trigger to bring the spell in the books to the surface. It in turn will allow us a channel back to the pure intentions rather than the reality of Willow, Miss Rosenberg’s spell. But before Mr Rayne did his ritual I had no idea such an opportunity or such a pathway existed.”

“What does the spell say? You said it was well done. How is it well done?”

“Because it is simple. It talks of families. It talks of futures still to be written.”

“And slayers?” Xander said.

Annunciata shook her head. “That is the power of this family magic. This is not a spell about slayers. This is a spell about choice. Magic is about intention. The spell channels our intent.”

“And you can be that channel?” Xander asked.

“I can, if you are willing. Slayers are daughters of the Earth, of the Light, tainted with the darkness they fight. They deserve a choice. But it is not my decision to make.” She paused. “Be clear in this one thing. Any decision will not be a decision made on behalf of slayers. Yours is not the decision to give power to slayers or to take it away. That way lies arrogance and hubris. This decision must be made with humility and reverence for the power of the slayer line and the burden that slayers bear.”

“What about the burden the current slayers bear?”

Annunciata sighed. “I believe the spell will apply to them, but magic is not an equation, it has curves rather than angles and edges, so I cannot be certain. You have all the information I can give you.” 

Xander sank down into the chair by the fireplace where he’d come to the decision to kill Ethan what seemed like days before. He gazed into the flames and pictured Buffy dead in a pool of water at the Master’s feet. He saw her jumping off a tower to save Dawn’s life and he saw her hanging lifeless in Drusilla’s arms, just as Ethan had hung lifeless in his own. He thought of Faith, her tall tales, her bravado, her skin under this touch. He thought of Vi, and Rhona and all the potentials he’d tracked down in his travels. He thought of Carla and the ease with which she’d taken to the slayer’s mission and the passion of the hunt. And he thought about Willow, white haired and joyous, pushing back the darkness as best she could, and of the consequences of the spell they were only just beginning to understand. The images crystallised in his head and suddenly there was no choice except choosing.

“Last time we didn’t give the potentials a choice about whether they wanted to accept the power,” he said softly. “Now, as best as I can figure, we would be giving them that choice – like a crossroads instead of a one-way street. To accept, or not to accept. And to do what they want with the results of that choice.” He looked up at Annunciata. “Is that right?”

“I believe so, Alessandro.”

“Then I have to believe so, too,” he said. "Let’s do it.”

“You are sure?” Annunciata asked.

Xander nodded and stood up. He looked from Annunciata, to Gabriella and finally to Spike. “Let’s do it now,” he said.


	15. Chapter 15

They left the drawing room together, before Gabriella and Annunciata split off to collect the items needed for the spell. 

“We will not be long,” Annunciata said. “If you could move the table from the centre of the library and put it off to the side, I would appreciate it."

“We can do that,” Xander said.

Annunciata nodded and started towards the door in the corner of the hall that led to the kitchen and storage rooms. After a moment, Gabriella followed.

Spike leaned on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. “Kind of tips things arse over tit.”

“Yep.” Xander replied. “Annunciata’s always been scary in her own way. Not Gabriella scary, but like an auntie who wouldn’t put up with any shit. But knowing she has that power, I mean, wow.”

“Yeah, and the lady with the power wants furniture moved, so we should probably get on that.”

They walked side by side across the hallway. “I’m beginning to think we should just get a moving walkway installed between the drawing room and the library, like they have in airports,” Xander said. “You know, the number of times we’ve been back and forth today.”

“Don’t think the industrial chic look would work with all the tiling and the antiques,” Spike replied.

“Maybe not. It was just a thought.” Xander stopped abruptly as they approached the library door.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Xander pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold, almost expecting to see Ethan standing there, leaning on his cane, a supercilious smile on his face. But the library was empty. “It doesn’t seem right,” he muttered.

“What doesn’t?”

“There’s no evidence. I killed a man in this room and there’s no trace of him. No trace of what I did.”

“Well, if you’re being accurate, there’s a body in Gabriella’s basement, which is as big a chunk of evidence as you can get. But yeah, there’s nothing here.” Spike paused. “You did a good job.”

Shaking his head, Xander skirted past Spike, crossing the library floor to pause before the old oak table. He trailed his fingers over the grain before turning back to face Spike. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“No, that’s supposed to remind you of what you are. We’ve had variations of this conversation over the years, but it bears repeating. You’re a vampire, Xander.”

“I got the memo.”

“No,” Spike replied. “You tolerate it. And most days you do a damn fine job. You asked me a long time ago to show you what its like to be what we are. I’ve tried. But I remember being soulless and everyday I struggle with that. You never have. You’re Xander Harris with an upgrade, but you’re still you. You’re a good man who got dealt a shitty hand and you’ve been coping better than anyone had a right to expect. Thing is, you have to accept that you have a demon as well as a soul and sometimes you chose to use it.”

“You make it sound like something to be proud of. Like it’s just another tool I’ve got. I’m not a carpenter any more, remember?”

“There’s no reason you can’t be one again, but that’s a different conversation. The demon might not be a hammer or a chisel, but apart from that, it’s a fair description. I never took you for a hypocrite, mate.”

“What the hell?” Xander leaned back against the table, his hands braced behind him. “You know, I’m getting whiplash. You’re trying to cheer me up, then you’re calling me out. You’re telling me to accept the demon, then saying I could take up carpentry again. I’m at the stage I’m so fucking tired and I can’t keep up, so you’re going to have to spell it out for me. Why am I a hypocrite?”

“You’re happy to use the demon when we’re out bagging us some nasties, or backing up some of the baby slayers. That’s all in a good cause, keeping that white hat, dust free. Wasn’t giving Ethan what he wanted a good cause?”

“Fuck, why do you have to be Mr Logical all of a sudden?” Xander scrubbed his hand restlessly across the back of his neck. “God, Spike, I don’t know. No. Yes. I don’t know. I’m kind of scrambled right now”

Spike walked a few paces forward and paused not quite within touching distance. “I get that. Not trying to get you more confused. Just trying to get you thinking, yeah?”

“Another example of you being a contrary git?”

“That’s the one, mate.”

Xander snorted. “I really don’t know which one of us is more screwed up. And talking of screwing up, or not, we need to move this table.”

“Changing the subject?”

“No, I just don’t want Annunciata and Gabriella to come in and find it’s not been done.”

“Point,” Spike acknowledged. He grabbed one end and Xander took the other and they shifted the table from the centre of the library over to the bookshelves furthest from the door. 

Xander leaned forward, arms flexed against the scarred oak top and looked over at Spike. “I remember Giles saying he could stand up and talk to a room of five hundred people and not break a sweat, because they were just one big mass. But the thought of lecturing to a small group kept him awake at night, because he knew he’d be able to see everyone. That he’d have to look them in the eye. I guess patrolling is like those five hundred people. It all blends together. And hey, kicking the bad guys asses is kind of righteous, you know? But with Ethan, I had to look him in the eye. It was him and me – one on one. Does that make sense?”

“Well technically you didn’t look him in the eye because you were behind him when you bit him, but yeah, I get it. Just remember, we did him a favour. It’s what he wanted, so try not to beat yourself up. Remember he said thank you.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better? I get what you’re saying, even if I don’t know I really believe it.” 

“All I’m trying to say is, don’t tie one hand behind your back. Remember, you’re a vampire. Use it to your advantage, yeah?”

“Thank you, Tony Robbins.”

“Git,” Spike said. “Christ, this parent shite is hard.”

Xander pushed himself up and away from the table. “You should see it from my end.”

“Kids today, no respect,” Spike muttered.

“And that is the most ironic statement I have heard today,” Gabriella said as she entered the library. She stood aside as Annunciata followed.

Annunciata carried something long and shallow in her arms. It was draped in cream silk. She crossed the floor, Gabriella at her back, and set down her cargo on the table.

“I’ve heard of beware of Greeks bearing gifts. Does the same apply to Venetians?” Spike said.

“I do not think so,” Annunciata replied. “Although it is always wise to be cautious, especially when it comes to magic.” Gently, she folded back the silk to reveal an intricately inlaid wooden chest. 

The carpenter in Xander was drawn to the workmanship and he moved closer to get a better look. The marquetry in the centre of the chest’s domed lid was a sunburst, its centre a deep, rich red cedar and bright fingers of the sun’s rays were glowing with the lighter shades of boxwood and what looked like willow. He hoped it was willow. On either side of the sun, there were inlays of all the phases of the moon picked out in satinwood and mother of pearl. “It’s beautiful,” he said.

“Isn’t it,” Annunciata replied. “My mother gave it to me when I came to live here. Even though I was leaving my family behind, she wanted me to know that she loved me and that I would always be connected to her and to the rest of my family.”

“That’s nice. But wasn’t it hard leaving your mom like that?”

“Yes. No. Sometimes,” Annunciata said. “But I had a very happy childhood and I grew up knowing I was loved.”

“And your talents appreciated,” Spike said. If Xander had been closer, he would have elbowed him in the gut.

“That too,” Annunciata acknowledged. “What child doesn’t want their family to appreciate their talents and nurture them? But we have talked enough about me.” She took a step back from the table. She seemed to grow taller as she looked at each of them in turn. “We are here for one reason,” she said. “I must ask you all again, as the representatives of the Council of Watchers, as protectors of our slayers, do you consent to this spell? Do you choose? This is a spell about choice, so I say, do you choose?”

Xander stood straight, shoulders back as she asked her question. “I consent,” he replied. “I choose.”

Spike nodded. “I consent, and I choose.”

Annunciata turned to Gabriella. “I consent,” she repeated. “I chose.”

“And so are you bound to this spell and to the choice you have made.” Annunciata smiled. “Thank you.” 

Moving back to the table she opened the chest. It was lined with the same cream silk as its wrapping. She drew out five thick white candles and a number of bundles of herbs and flowers. They were fresh and smelled of a summer garden. She gathered her spoils and placed them in a small basket that was inset into the interior of the chest, and moved to the centre of the library. One by one, she placed the candles in the valleys of the tiled pentagram on the floor. Gabriella followed behind, lighting each candle with a long taper. Once all the candles were lit, Annunciata gathered the fragrant bundles from the basket and placed one bundle at each peak of the pentagram. “Sage for wisdom,” she said. “Thyme for courage and strength. Yarrow for healing. Lilac for the joy of youth.” She bent and laid the final bundle down on the floor. “And Sassafras for considered choices.”

As he watched Annunciata do her work, Xander itched for something to do, some way to help, but he knew in his heart that this was not something for him, that he had to stand aside and wait. Why is it always women? His question from earlier echoed in his head. He had known the answer even before Spike had replied. Because it always had been. In a Council dominated by men, it was the women who fought on the line. It was the women, the girls who died. It was the women, the girls that the watchers served and as he watched Annunciata pace confidently between the table and the pentagram, laying out the tools of her arcane trade, he felt the weight of his thoughts settle on his soul.

Annunciata placed four silver bowls in the centre of the floor and carefully filled one with water, one with dark, rich smelling earth and one with a dark powder that burned with a steady blue flame when ignited. The fourth bowl remained empty. 

She picked up a fifth bowl and a small silver knife. The bowl was wooden and black with age and use. She placed both items on the table and turned back to her audience, to her watchers. "We are ready to begin,” she said. “From you as watchers, I need five drops of your blood as a sacrifice to the slayers. This I take from you with your consent. Alessandro?”

Xander stepped forward. He thought of Gabriella’s trust in the library, and the toast she had made. He thought of Buffy on Glory’s tower, of what she had said to Dawn - blood, it always came down to blood. He held out his hand. Annunciata pierced his thumb and squeezed until five drops of blood dripped into the bowl. She repeated the action with Spike, then with Gabriella.

“Thank you, “Annunciata said again. She reached back into her box and pulled out a vial containing a dark looking powder. “Once again, we need slayer blood,” she said and carefully tipped the dried flakes of blood into the bowl, where it melded with the fresh blood already there. Picking up the bowl, she walked back to the pentagram and placed it in the centre of the other bowls.

“I ask each of you to stand by one of the candles,” she said. “Gabriella, if you will stand by the candle on the top left, and I will stand opposite, on the right. Spike, if you can stand on the left by the candle in the valley below Gabriella. Alessandro will stand in the opposite valley. We leave the valley at the bottom empty, except for the candle. It is the doorway, both entry and exit, and the candle lights the way for those who with travel both with us and away from us. Such is their right to do.”

They moved into their allotted positions and the candles burned steadily at their feet. Annunciata held her arms out, palms up. “We are here as a family. A family of protectors. A family that fights for the light. We call upon the spirits who guide our family. Who protect each member in turn. Who connect us and bring us home. We call on the watchers, who offer their sacrifice to protect our daughters. We call upon the slayers now and in the future. They are children of the light. They are elemental, daughters of the earth, of water, of air, and of fire.” As she spoke, each bowl began to glow. “They are the daughters of our blood, the blood that connects us. The blood that we willingly spill. The blood that binds and gives us life.

“We chose to be part of this family. We choose to protect. But we recognise that each must walk their own path.” She raised her arms until they were fully stretched above her head, fingers reaching for the unseen sky. “We are here by choice. Let all who walk with us now and in the future make their own choice, make their own family, make their own future. Spirits who guide us, spirits who protect us, spirits who connect us, let your Chosen, choose. Let their future be their own.”

She opened her arms wide, her head thrown back and her eyes closed. Power flooded the room. The candles flickered, the silver bowls the floor glowed and the blue flame danced from one bowl to the next. When it moved on, it left each bowl empty. Finally, it leapt to the wooden bowl with the blood and the blue flame turned red, then brilliant white and Xander thought of Willow, her hair flowing from her own rich red to white during the empowerment spell and so many spells in the years that followed. The air was thick and heavy and the flame jumped back into its own bowl, arching towards Annunciata as if it was paying its respects, before it flickered and went out.

Annunciata dropped her arms and bowed to the centre of the pentagram, her hands clasped together over her heart. “Take these elements we have offered,” she whispered. “Take this blood we have sacrificed. Use it wisely. Use it well. Use it to live.” She straightened and her smile was the light of the sun and all the phases of the moon on the lid of her mother’s gift. “It is done,” she said and the feeling of power in the air disappeared as if it had never been.

“Wow,” Xander said. “Sorry, it’s kind of my word of the moment.”

“Kind of disappointed there wasn’t any Latin,” Spike said. “Spell usually needs a bit of Latin.”

If possible, Annunciata’s smile got bigger. “The spell in the books was in Latin and some Etruscan, but as I said, magic is intention. A spell can be spoken in any language that gives you the words to express your intent.”

“I’m still stuck on wow,” Xander said.

“I think, under the circumstances, it is an adequate word, Alexander,” Gabriella said.

“I guess, the only thing is, we have no idea if it worked,” Xander said. I mean, we’ll never know if-” He was interrupted by a chirping noise coming from his pocket. “Shit, I forgot turn off my cell.”

Spike shook his head. “Kids today. Can’t do without their technology.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Xander rolled his eye. He fished his cell out of the pocket of his cargo pants. “Hello,” he said. “Oh hi, Vi. Great timing.” He walked a few paces away from the others and turned, listening to Vi and watching Gabriella and Annunciata clear up the remnants of the spell. Spike stood watching him, his hands thrust deep into the pocket of his duster. “She did what? When, and how, I mean, really?” Xander exclaimed. “Okay, Vi, I’ll call you back.”

Spike raised an eyebrow and Gabriella and Annunciata paused in their work. “That was Vi,” Xander said.

“Gathered that,” Spike replied.

Xander turned to Gabriella and Annunciata. “Vi’s one of the senior slayers in the London house. One of the original Sunnydale potentials.”

“Miss Rosenberg has mentioned her in the past,” Gabriella said.

“Yeah, she and Wills got on really well together. Anyway, something happened back in London that she thought we should know. Spike, you remember Maggie? The slayer who was having trouble fitting in. You remember, Carla gave me the heads up about Maggie, the night…well the night my plan didn’t come together.”

“Is she the one with the boy band fetish?”

“That’s Gina. Maggie, short black hair, green eyes, loves purple.”

“Oh yeah, I remember, vaguely.”

“She’s packing. Just turned around as they were heading out on patrol and told Vi she felt this sudden urge to go home. That she didn’t need to be at the London house anymore and she was going back to her family. Now she’s packing and probably looking up train times. Makes me think…” he trailed off.

Spike pulled out his cigarettes and after a brief glance at Gabriella, he lit up. “Guess we got our answer then. The spell worked on girls who’d already been called. She didn’t really want to be there and now she doesn’t feel the need to stay. That’s my interpretation, anyway. Result all around, I’d say.”

“I agree,” Annunciata replied. “The timing is too close to be coincidence.”

“Wow,” Xander repeated.

“As good a word as any, pet,” Spike said. “Suppose we’ll never really know if it worked on potentials, because we’ll never see the ones who decide not to take the call.”

Gabriella nodded. “I think we must be content that we have done all that we can and must leave the rest in the hands of the future Chosen – to choose, or not, as their conscience and circumstances dictate.”

Spike took a drag on his cigarette. “Sounds like a plan,” he said. “It’s been a busy couple of days. You got yourself a nice bit of magic, tidied up some shit from the past, and the chaos mage won’t be bothering you, or anyone else, any more. We’ll leave you to deal with any fall out from the Initiative gits if they ever get their brain cell out the pawn shop and work out Rayne was here. So I’m thinking our work here is done. Time to go home.”

“Eloquent as ever,” Gabriella said. “But yes, we will deal with the Initiative should it be necessary. I’m sure you have duties back in London that you should attend to, not least with any slayer who wishes to leave. You and Alexander.”

Xander rubbed his thumb under the elastic of his eyepatch. “I’m not going back,” he said. “To London, I mean.” He studied his boots before looking up at Spike. “You go. I’m sorry, but I can’t. Not yet.” 

“Staying on in Venice for a bit, are you?” Spike said. “Seeing the sights.”

“No. I think it’s time I went back to Lisbon. Closed the circle, as it were.”

Spike tilted his head and looked at Xander. Xander looked back and held his sire’s gaze. Then Spike grinned. “Good for you, mate. It’s about time. I’ll see you when you get home, yeah? Give my regards to Melina.”

“Yeah,” Xander replied. “If she’ll talk to me?”

“She’ll talk to you. She’s family. It’s what all this has been about, mate. All this family magic. Family you choose. Family that chooses you.” Spike stuck his hands into the pockets of his duster. “You remember that when you’re travelling. And when you’re ready to come home.”

Xander nodded. “I’ll remember,” he said. “And I’ll be there. Not sure when, but I’ll be there.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Can’t cope with a houseful of women on my own for too long. Enough to drive a bloke to drink.”

“I’m sure you’ll cope,” Xander said.

“’Course I will.”

Spike turned to Annunciata and kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks for the dog and pony show, love.” Then he turned to Gabriella and to Xander’s surprise, Spike picked up her hand and kissed it. “Been fun, pet. Maybe next time we can get back to normal and forget all this civility. It gets a mite tiring after a time.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Spike,” she said. “Safe travels.”

“Safe’s no fun,” Spike replied. With a last nod in Xander’s direction, he turned and sauntered out of the library, shoulders back, duster swinging, attitude following in his wake.

Xander watched him go.


	16. Epilogue

The normality of the day felt almost abnormal to Xander after the stress of the night before. He had slept until mid afternoon, then risen knowing that curtains and shutters would be closed in the hallway and the public rooms courtesy of Annunciata. He’d joined Gabriella for afternoon tea, or coffee in his case, and reminisced about his first experience of proper British scones on the Orient Express, literally a lifetime ago. He’d sat in the kitchen with a mug of blood and watched Annunciata direct the household staff with the precision of a general marshalling troops. He’d had no communication with Spike. 

Now, he stood in the entrance hall of the Venice chapter house, his pack propped up against an elegant side table displaying an antique carriage clock. The seconds ticked by, counting down the time as he waited to take leave of the ladies of the house. Then the door in the corner of the hallway opened and Annunciata emerged, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist. “Alessandro,” she said. “You are ready to go, yes?”

Xander shrugged. “Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

She came to a halt a few paces away and put her hands on her hips. “You know you are always welcome here,” she said. “If I hear you are in Venice and do not come to visit, I will not be happy.”

“Well, I definitely don’t want you pissed at me, that’s for sure. Before, I’d be worried you’d hide the good snack foods, but now I’ve seen you with the mojo action, I’m really going to keep on your good side.”

“I think hiding the fritelle is still the bigger threat to keep you in line,” she replied. Her expression was stern, but there was mischief in her eyes.

“You know me too well, Annunciata. And here I was thinking I’d cultivated the whole dark, international man of mystery shtick when I got the upgrade.” He paused, then grinned her. “Maybe I need to get a swooshy coat before I get to join that club.”

“You will always be you, Alessandro. There is no need to be anyone else.”

“You should listen to her.” Xander turned and Gabriella came towards him from the direction of the library. She wore cream trousers and a green silk shirt. She had gold hoops in her ears and her hair was pulled back in a French braid. A small cloth bag hanging over her shoulder looked incongruous against the elegant outfit. “Annunciata is a wise lady, as I’m sure you know,” she said. “She is right. You do not need to be anyone but yourself.” She tilted her head to the side. Xander was struck again how unsettling it was that a simple small movement could make her look so much like Spike. “You don’t have to be him.”

“Who?” Xander asked. He knew he was being disingenuous, but some habits were too ingrained to break.

“Spike, of course,” Gabriella replied. “He is your sire. He has taught you so much, but he is his own creation. You must be the same.”

“I’m not trying to be Spike.” Xander ran his hand over the top of his head. “I don’t have the attitude, or the hair, for starters.”

“For which we are grateful. Have you spoken to him since he left? I assume he has reached London by now?”

“Yeah. I spoke to Vi on the phone. She said he got back and went straight to the gym and hasn’t been seen since. She did say she heard the chain snap on the heavy bag. But no, I haven’t spoken to him. But hey, she also said only one other slayer has left, so that’s good.”

“Does it bother you?” Gabriella asked.

“What, a slayer leaving? I’m sad, obviously, because I wonder if we could have done more to help her stay, but at the same time, it would be kind of hypocritical. That was kind of the point of the choice.”

“Don’t be obtuse, Alexander, you know that is not what I mean. Does it bother you that you haven’t spoken to Spike?”

Xander started to shrug, then stopped abruptly when Annunciata took a step forward, folded her arms and stared at him. She had the same look on her face as she’d had the day before when she threatened to spank both him and Spike if they didn’t behave. “He said he was okay with me not going back with him. With me going to Lisbon,” he said finally. “I’ve got to assume he meant it.”

“Spike is a complicated man,” Gabriella said. “This is what he has been working towards for a long time.”

“What, getting me to go visit Melina?”

“No. Getting you to make your own decisions. The last real decision you made was asking to be turned and that was no decision at all.”

“I make decisions all the time,” Xander protested.

“But I suspect they’ve not been unilateral. At least not in the past few years. You’ve made decisions in tandem with slayers, with other watchers, with Miss Rosenberg and most of all with Spike. He’s your sire. He’s been responsible for you.”

Xander watched the hands of the carriage clock. The long hand relentlessly counted out the seconds and every beat felt like the start of eternity. “And now maybe he doesn’t want to be,” he said. He didn’t look at Gabriella. 

“I don’t presume to understand how Spike thinks, but we were both present in the library when he said his farewells. I did not hear him say that he didn’t want to be responsible for you. I believe he is trying to give you back your life. Give you back the power that Drusilla took from you, so you have the confidence as well as the right to make your own choices. As he pointed out, that is after all why we have been here.”

Xander pulled his attention away from the clock. “And to do that he has to break gym equipment?”

“He wants you to stand on your own two feet, Alessandro,” Annunciata said. “But he will always be responsible for you, so letting go is hard, however right the action. He has the Miss Summers and Mr Giles and Miss Rosenberg standing at his shoulder.”

“And Andrew,” Xander said.

Annunciata frowned. “Who?”

“Andrew. He was another of Dru’s victims. He was a pain in the ass, but he was our pain in the ass and he didn’t deserve to die like that. Everyone forgets him, so I’ve kind of made it my responsibility to remember.”

“Then we will remember him too.” Gabriella nodded. “Annunciata is right. Spike feels the weight of all of those you lost. He feels the weight of their opinion even though they are no longer here. He also feels the weight of your decision.”

"So basically, I’ve made him a little schizoid?"

"Duality is the nature of vampires. Another reason why Mr Rayne thought of you in his time of need. Spike, both as himself and as your sire, feels that duality in you and in himself. Much as it would pain my younger self to say it, he has layers.” 

“Like ogres,” Xander said.

Annunciata rolled her eyes. “Sometimes I think I can have a more sensible conversation with Illario than I can with either you or Spike.”

“Only sometimes?” Xander asked.

“Remember the fritelle, Alessandro.”

Xander held up his hands in surrender. “I’m done.”

“I think we are also finished with deep talking,” Gabriella said. “You must to be on your way, but we will have this conversation again. And I think it is a conversation that you must have with Spike.”

“Won’t that be the diary date?” Xander said.

“We have both said enough,” Gabriella continued. “I simply wanted to give you some food for thought, because I believe that both our relationship and this situation calls for it. Do with it what you will. But for now, before you go, I have a gift for you.”

“You bought me a present?”

She slipped the cloth bag off her shoulder and pulled out a book. 

“You bought me some light reading for the trip to Lisbon?”

“Not bought,” Gabriella countered. “I wanted to give you something and I thought it was appropriate. It is more of a re-gift, as it is a book I have had for many years, but I think it has meaning.”

Xander took the book and turned it over. The cover was cracked and worn as if it had been read many times. There was a dark blotch on the corner that looked and smelled like old blood. He paused and looked up quickly when he realised it smelled like Gabriella’s blood. “Gulliver’s Travels?” 

Gabriella smiled and a faint blush crept across her cheeks. “I thought it was appropriate. It was left in my care many years ago, when I was just a girl who thought she knew everything there was to know about the world. In the years that followed I realised that the world still had much to teach me. I believe it also still has much to teach you, so I thought it was time to pass it on.”

Xander ran his thumb over the cover. “Thank you, Gabriella, I’m touched.” He glanced at the carriage clock and bent down to stow the book carefully in his pack. “Well, I guess I’d better be going, or I’ll miss the night flight to Lisbon and doesn’t that sound like the kind of European art house movie that the critics will love, but no one normal will actually go to see?”

“There is a novel called Night Train to Lisbon, and I can recommend it. Ask Melina about it when you see her, I’m sure she will have read it. And give her my best wishes.”

He stood up and swung the pack over his shoulder. “If she lets me through the door?”

“Of that, I have no doubt.”

“I’ll see.” He stepped forward and hugged Annunciata. “Thank you,” he said.

“You are welcome, Alessandro. Safe travels.”

“As safe as I can make them.” He withdrew from the hug and turned to Gabriella. For all the ground they had covered, there would always be a distance between them. He had no idea how she would react to a hug, so he settled on doing what he had done since his turning, he copied Spike, picked up her hand and kissed it. “Thank you, Gabriella,” he said.

She nodded, queen to commoner. “Take care, Alexander. Enjoy your travels and return when you are ready.”

“I can do that. You know, it’s funny,” he said. “The evening we laid Willow to rest I told Spike I felt like that the walls were closing in on me. That the road and my options felt like they were getting narrower and narrower. I guess it’s time to see if I can make them broader.”

“A worthy ambition,” Gabriella replied. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” He paused. “Are you sure you’ll be alright if the Initiative come to the door?”

Gabriella raised an eyebrow and Annunciata stifled a laugh. “The day I cannot deal a member of the military with delusions of their own power and importance will be the day I hand the keys of this house to someone else,” Gabriella said. “But I thank you for your concern.”

Xander grinned. “I feel sorry for the soldiers. And on that note, I really need to make tracks.” He shifted his pack on his shoulder and with a final nod and a smile to them both, he turned and opened the front door. The air of the Venice twilight was balmy and heady with the scents of the city. Stepping across the threshold, he pulled the door behind him without looking back and stepped out into the dark.

First stop was Lisbon and a long talk with Melina. Depending on how it went would dictate the length of his stay. For the first time since he’d landed in Portugal six years before, bone weary from Africa, and found an unlooked for welcome in Melina’s warm-hearted embrace, he had no roadmap and no agenda, apart from perhaps the gifted book in his pack.

Now it was time to return to the start of the journey, to Lisbon and Melina. Not to turn back the clock, because the clock had been shattered years before on the floor of the London house, the night Buffy died. For now, there was a chance to reset, to take stock and think about the future that was yet to be written. But first he had a flight to catch and a friendship to mend.

Finally, when he was done, he would have choices. He could continue his travels - visit parts of Africa he hadn’t seen, or parts even more exotic. The world was his to explore, at least for a little while. Once he was done, he knew he would turn for London and to Spike, to his sire, to his friend and whatever that friendship could mean. And he would tell Willow and Buffy, Giles and Dawn and even Andrew what he’d done and where he’d been. 

Then finally, of his own choosing, he would be home.

Fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N  
> That's it folks. Thank you to everyone who took the journey with me and the boys over on my LJ over the summer of 2017 and for folks coming to it new on AO3, I hope you also enjoy. 
> 
> sparrow xxx


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